Still Friends?
by Kirsty Welsh
Summary: Undercover is a dangerous place to be, especially when you're all alone. Hutch finds out the hard way. This story has something for both the Hutchies and the Starsky's ladies out there. I hope you enjoy - it's been a while! CHAPTER 36
1. Chapter 1

My dear friends, its been a while since I took my sabatical and a lot has happened in the past weeks. My health is improving slowly and I hope my life is getting back together. I have come to realise that money isn't everything and quality of life is what counts. Under pressure I tried to give up writing - I tired so hard, but I can't. It's in my blood and the Curly and Blondie have once again seen me through - along with the countless lovely messages I recieved from you lovely ladies and of course my wonderful Brook and Nelleke who have been with me through the worst of it.

Remember - life begins at 50!

This story is for them.

**Chapter 1**

The tall, lean man with the shock of chocolate coloured curls let himself quietly into his darkened apartment. He sighed loudly as he stood at the top of the stairs. He juggled his keys in left hand and the bag of donuts in the other, opening the door and throwing the bag on the counter. He was expecting Suzi to drop by but he wasn't in any mood. He almost picked the phone up back at work to tell her not to come, but then quickly decided maybe he needed a night away from thoughts of Hutch. Maybe a night with his girl might just be what he needed to turn off his brain. Without bothering to switch on the lights, he shouldered out of his dark blue cotton jacket, took off his holster and gun and stowed them neatly in his closet and deposited his handcuffs and shield on the top of the small table by his front door. Heading into the kitchen, he opened his ice box and took out a beer which he deftly opened by slamming his hand down on the crown cap on top of his counter ledge. Opening the fridge door again he stared morosely at the half of cold pizza, the single wedge of cheese and an onion, sighed deeply and closed the door again. He grabbed a donut, took a bite and threw it down too. Appetite seemed to be a thing of the past.

It had been a long day and the tension he'd felt growing throughout the hours had settled itself into a knot at the base of his neck and a headache over his right eye that threatened to turn into one of his infrequent migraines. Actually every day for the last 3 months had been that way for David Starsky, ever since his partner, Ken Hutchinson had agreed to take the undercover assignment that had kept them separated. Starsky hated the fact that he didn't have Hutch's back. That was where he was meant to be – looking out for the big blond, the same as Hutch looked out for him. They were a pair. Partners. Not two single individuals who just happened to work together.

The assignment had been wrong from the start, he knew that, but try as he might he hadn't been able to persuade Hutch that he should let it go and give it to some other gullible sucker. Oh no! Hutch had listened to the Feds description of the drugs and arms dealer, his interest peeked and on the way home that night, he'd made up his mind to go in.

In the meantime, Starsky had tried at first to coax, persuade, and finally yell at the flaxen haired cop that this was about the most idiotic idea he'd ever had and that he shouldn't touch the job with a ten foot long pole. Starsky had sulked, yelled and all but punched Hutch in the face trying to get him to see sense, but to no avail. On 22nd January – a Tuesday, Hutch packed a small overnight bag, handed the key to his apartment to his neighbor, Helene so that she could water his plants and gave his rent book to Starsky so that his partner could keep up the payments while he wasn't there. Then he'd said "see ya" to Starsky (they never, ever said goodbye), got into his old brown beater of a car and drove off leaving Starsky's nerves frayed and his temper at an all time high.

From then on, all the brunet could do was attend the damn briefings that the Feds had held every 2 weeks to get his updates, sit at the back of the room and listen. They didn't want Starsky any where near Hutch, that much was patently obvious. In fact they didn't want Starsky, period. The faceless, grey suited beaurocrats labeled the curly haired cop as a "loose canon" and a "liability" and tried to exclude him from the meetings whenever they could. Starsky always attended, though, accompanying Dobey although he was made to sit at the back of the room and was ignored. On the few occasions he'd tried to make valid points about his partner's safety, they'd stared at him stony faced, remained silent for a second or so and then gone back to their conversation as though he'd never uttered a word. Even his pleas to Dobey had gone unanswered for the most part. This was the Fed's show and Dobey was merely along for the ride.

Starsky had seen Hutch only 3 times in all after the blond went undercover and each time he saw the blond he saw how this job was getting to his partner, how Hutch's face had lost weight, how his body was harder, leaner and how his eyes held a hunted, haunted look. Hutch never said much and always assured Starsky that he was ok and that he could handle what was going on, but the hitch in his partner's voice and the slight hesitation that was always a dead giveaway that the big cop was trying to hide something from Starsky left the brunet feeling antsy and in need of some action.

Starsky flopped down onto his sofa, put his sneakered feet up on his coffee table, crossed his ankles and rested his head back. The apartment seemed empty. Even when Hutch wasn't physically there, he was usually just a phone call away, but there was a nagging void which had grown of late, leaving Starsky feeling alone and, yes, lonely. Fondly the curly haired cop remembered arriving home from a solitary shift just 2 weeks ago.

_Oddly, his door was unlocked and the brunet had drawn his gun, taken a step back and had kicked the door open, springing inside and crouching in classic firing position, arms outstretched, right hand cupping his left and his weapon seeking it's target. _

_He'd heard a distinct snort of amusement and stood up self consciously as Hutch had walked out from his bathroom and smiled._

'_Is that any way to say hello?' the blond had asked._

'_Well don't lurk in my house' Starsky retorted tetchily._

'_Lurk? Me?'_

'_Uh huh, you. World's best lurker. How're ya doin' buddy?' _

'_I'm good. I um….' The flaxen haired man looked uncomfortable. 'I'm good.'_

'_You know, you're a terrible liar Hutchinson. Look at ya. How much have you lost? 12, 14 pounds?'_

_Hutch looked down at himself and snickered. 'Black is very slimming' he muttered 'at least that's what Abby used to say.'_

'_Bullshit!'_

'_Uh huh, that's what I used to say back to her. I told ya, I'm fine.'_

'_So, why are ya here, not that I'm not glad to see ya' Starsky said handing his partner a beer. He took a 7up for himself and tried to ignore Hutch's raised eyebrows._

'_No beer?'_

'_Stomach's still bad. Somehow 7up seems to make it better' Starsky replied._

'_It'll take the lining off your stomach.'_

_The brunet snickered. 'Marcus' goons did that already. This makes the pain go away. How long have you got before you need to be back?'_

_The blond looked at the clock on the wall. 'Not long. I told 'em I had some business to take care of and I needed an hour.'_

'_So back to the original question. Why did you come over here?'_

'_Would you believe I missed ya?' Hutch asked._

'_An' I missed you too buddy. The damned Feds don't tell me shit an' they won't let me anywhere near the factory. How's it goin'?'_

_A fleeting look of pain crossed Hutch's handsome features. 'It's ok. I reckon another month and maybe we'll have 'em. They're expecting a delivery some time in the next four weeks, that much I know. As for exactly when and where, I still need to find out. I'm still workin' on the boss, getting' him to trust me.'_

'_You're gonna be careful though' Starsky asked. I mean…. Hey, what's that?'_

_Hutch looked up swiftly. 'Huh?'_

'_On your arm. What's that on your arm?'_

_Self consciously Hutch pulled up the sleeve of his black tee shirt to reveal a tattoo in the shape of a cougar's paw with a dagger dripping blood spliced through the middle of it. 'Gang colours. I had no choice, it was one of the conditions of bein' accepted.'_

_Starsky snorted. 'Cute. Want one for the other arm sayin' "I love Mom"?'_

'_You crack me up Gordo. Look I gotta go. I just wanted to…..'_

_Starsky stood up. 'I know. Me too. Look after yourself huh?'_

_Hutch grinned. 'I'm a big boy Ma. I can handle it.'_

'_I want my partner back in one piece. Ya hear?' _

The brunet had watched as Hutch opened the front door a crack, cautiously looked outside and then with a quick wave of his hand was gone into the night.

Starsky sighed at the memory, finished off the last dregs of his beer and got up. He walked into his bathroom turning on the hot water and taking off his clothes. He looked at the fading whip marks, now silvery, slightly raised lines snaking across his shoulders and down his back, the legacy of his couple of days spent as Simon Marcus' "guest" just over two months ago. They weren't the only legacy of that nightmare 48 hours. Although he didn't admit it to anyone but Hutch, he hated the dark these days. He even slept with the light on most of the time. He was still jumpy around crowds and his stomach had still to recover from the poison he'd been forced to drink in the water they gave him.

When he'd gotten to the hospital to have his injuries treated once the big blond had rescued him, the doctors had been concerned about nerve damage to his hands caused by being strung up for so long. His fingers had been numb for days after the rescue, but gradually feeling returned to all but the little finger of his right hand. His left shoulder, the one weakened by the bullet in the Italian restaurant was still an issue too. Being suspended from the big aviary bars had stretched the muscles and they'd torn around his left shoulder. For a month he'd worn his left arm in a sling and now, another 6 weeks further on, he was still wary of over extending the limb. But it was his stomach that was the real issue. The doctors had told him that the poison had corroded some of his stomach lining away. Starsky was on medication both to help it heal and also for the incredible pains he still felt especially after he ate or drank. His abdomen even now was tender to the touch and sometimes felt as though he'd done several rounds with Mohammed Ali. He was fortunate to be alive, Starsky realised that, but the injuries left him feeling vulnerable and his confidence had been badly shaken by the experience.

Walking into the shower he put his hands of the wall letting the hot water hit his tensed shoulders, trying to get rid of his thoughts of the meeting he had just had with the feds. He'd tried not to go off on Garcia when the suited man had told Starsky to back off the case. Just about the worst thing Garcia could have said to the brunet but Starsky held his temper in check. But when the Fed told him that if he set one foot in any more meetings, it would be Hutch's life on the line, the curly haired cop had lost it completely and was all over him. That's when they kicked him out of the room and that's when Dobey told him he would call him. Starsky knew the look on Dobey's face. He'd seen that look before, although fortunately not very often. The usually restrained Captain was on the verge of losing it big time and Starsky's senses told him that his best move was to get the hell out of the room, go home and wait.

He knew that was the last straw. The feds have been dealing with David Starskys temper tantrums for the past 2 months. All he wanted now was to finish his shower get very drunk and go to bed. He turned the water off softly and cursed as he heard a humming sound in the kitchen So much for a solitary night in. Suzi was already there. She sounded happy and he sighed heavily. He also knew he was going to be in for another long night.

Starsky grabbed the terry cloth towel wrapping it around his lean body and as he opened the door to say hello to Suzi he was greeted with a huge kiss and her arms around his neck.

'That's just how I like my men' the tall blond whispered into his ear. 'Unwrapped and ready for me.'

'I aim to please' the brunet grinned, picking her up in his arms and propelling her towards the bedroom. His dark thoughts were put to one side as the sight of her slim body roused his own to greet her.

As Starsky laid Suzi down onto the bed, she was already reaching for the towel around his waist and as it dropped away, she sighed at the sight of his obvious pleasure at her being there.

'Were you thinking of me?' she asked

'Of course' the brunet lied. 'Why else would I be so pleased to see ya?' He knelt on the bed and crawled panther-like up the length of her body, forcing his knee between her legs so that he could gain access to her. Suzi looked up into his intense indigo eyes.

'So soon? Can't we kiss first?'

Starsky dotted a kiss on the tip of her nose as his left knee joined the right one and he spread Suzi's legs wide enough for her to accommodate him. Leaning down to bite gently at the angle of her neck, she moaned and arched her body up to meet his as she felt him enter her in one fluid movement.

Ordinarily, Starsky was an attentive lover. Ordinarily, he would have kissed and cuddled and petted his woman until she was almost pleading for him to take her, but tonight, he felt selfish, as though for once, it was all about his enjoyment and his release, rather than Suzi's. Within minutes, he was pounding into her, his rhythm fast and furious as though he were taking out all the frustrations of the case and the absence of his partner on the woman.

Only three or four minutes later, with a grunt and a moan, Starsky felt himself release his offering deep inside the woman. Sweating with his exertion, he collapsed sideways onto the bed, breathless, his arm trailing across Suzi's naked chest and within moments he was asleep.

Suzi turned sideways so that she could examine her lover. Starsky had been getting steadily more tense for weeks, his temper uncertain and his company difficult on occasions. His love making, however, had always been tender and gentle, until now. Now she felt used, as though she were some kind of toy used for the brunet to take out his aggression on. Starsky's face, in sleep, was relaxed, his thick black lashes spiked with sweat against his flushed cheeks. He looked younger than his 29 years and almost like a little boy and the more she looked at him, the more she realised that tonight was nothing personal – he needed a release and she happened to be in the right place at the right time.

For a while, she lay quietly by the side of the sleeping man, then got out of the bed, got dressed, wrote a note saying she'd call him and let herself out of the apartment.

Six hours later, Starsky awoke, stretched carefully and looked around for his girl. He heard noises coming from the living room and got up, slipped his legs into his jeans and opened the bedroom door feeling angry at himself for being so selfish the previous night.

The room seemed empty and he was about to go back to bed thinking he'd imagined the sounds when the bathroom door opened and a familiar figure emerged.

Starsky's face split into a relieved grin.

'Hutch!'


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed chapter one and also sent me messages. i will reply to you all individually, but there have been so may, I'm a little overwhelmed!**

**Chapter 2**

Keith Hurst. Keep the initials the same and the undercover persona is much easier to live with. That's what the Feds had told Hutch even though the tall blond cop doubted that the grey suited men would know and undercover assignment if it jumped up and bit them on the butt. He went along with it, however, and two months into the assignment he was as comfortable being Keith Hurst as he was ever likely to be.

The job sucked and he knew now he should have listened to Starsky. He should have listened to Markham and Chun politely, smiled in all the right places and then backed off, but no! that damned Hutchinson pride had cornered him again, especially when the duo mentioned that kids on the street were being blown away by the weapons that had been confiscated and then had somehow found their way back out onto the streets.

That was the crux of the job of course – find the two timing, double crossing turkey who was accessing the police secure storage in order to take the weapons back. Markham had explained very carefully that when any weapon found to be used in a crime anywhere across the country was found, it was immediately confiscated, impounded until after the trial and then, if the defendant was found guilty, the weapon was legally seized, taken out of storage and melted down to be used as paper clips or car licence plates or any other hunk of tin that was required.

It seemed though, that somehow, known weapons – those who'd had their serial numbers documented and had definitely been impounded were finding their way back into circulation. Not just any circulation either. The weapons in question, be they pistols, hand guns, rifles, machine gun or whatever, were going back out to the same criminal element who they'd been taken from in the first place. They were taken right out from under the cop's noses and the Feds were, rightly, pissed.

The two faceless, grey suited men had asked for a volunteer to become part of a gang known as the Cougars. The cell of big time criminals were new to the city, hence they could use local cops, but the Cougars had already started a one group crime wave, interspersing arms trading with some good, wholesome down home drug trading as an aside. Salvador (Sal) Milano, the boss of the gang was a second generation Sicilian, originally from Detroit and come south, he told friends, for his health. The feds told Starsky and Hutch it wasn't the sun he was looking for as much as the rich pickings from the kids down by the beach. Chun gave the names of some of the kids that had started to get caught up in the Cougar's nets and one name struck fear into Hutch's heart – Kiko.

Although only twelve, Kiko was fast becoming streetwise. The blond had befriended him under the Big Brother scheme and had tried to teach the boy proper values. Kiko wasn't a bad kid, just the opposite in fact, but he was impressionable and easily led, wanting and needing to fit in with his piers. The thoughts of Kiko getting mixed up in any way with the Cougars, be it as a runner or as a customer left Hutch cold. It was that single fact that had made up his mind, despite Starsky all but knocking his head off his shoulders to try to get him to see sense. When Kiko was finally arrested by two cops and detained for possessing coke, Hutch was beside himself and was even more angry when the young boy was sent to Juvi for three months.

After two months in the company of Sal and his henchmen however, Hutch was sickened. He'd seen good men gunned down, had seen Sal's brand of justice and had had to stand by and witness brutalities without being able to lift a finger. He had heard that Sal had a contact into the Bay City PD, but had yet to find out who the mole was. Until he got that identity, he would have to resign himself to being Keith Hurst and that meant working alone without his partner to watch his back.

Hutch missed Starsky like he'd miss his right hand. Theirs wasn't a run of the mill partnership. After almost six years working together, they'd been through some pretty tough times, the latest of which had been Starsky's abduction from the county courthouse and his subsequent ordeal at the hands of that flake Simon Marcus' cronies. Hutch had barely got to Starsky in time and had spent the six weeks since watching the brunet heal and get steadily stronger.

Starsky had tried to hide the impact of his abduction from Hutch, but the blond wasn't stupid, he could see the telltale signs in his partner. They'd worked together long enough for him to recognise the worry lines around those indigo eyes, the tightness in that goofy grin and the slight hitch in Starsky's breathing when he tried to disguise just how much his stomach and his shoulder were hurting. Hutch had been called into this job three weeks after the rescue. He'd seen Starsky only three times in the past two months, but each time, he saw that the brunet was not yet back to full health and he worried for the curly haired hellion. Starsky might give outward signs of bravado and temper, but beneath the hard exterior there was a small boy needing the light on at night and a reassuring voice when the darkness became too impenetrable. That, and a constant supply of 7up. Although Hutch quipped about it being bad for his partner, it did seem that the fizzy, sugary drink was the only thing other than the meds that could take away the pains in his stomach once in a while.

There were occasions when Hutch needed a kind word and some friendship too. Being undercover was a strain in itself, but when being undercover meant being in effect Sal's right hand man, sometimes the pressure became unbearable. On those occasions, Hutch needed to make some excuse to get away.

Last night, he'd been witness to a beating of such magnitude that even his hardened cop persona had been sickened. The victim – a teenager who couldn't pay his coke debt had been hung from the rafters of the old factory by his feet and had been used like a piñata until his features were a non-descript pulp and he'd stopped screaming. The men who'd done the beating treated it almost as a treat, laughing and joking as the poor victim struggled and twisted on the end of the rope. Hutch almost lost his supper as he watched, powerless to stop the brutality and had finally made an excuse to leave, the finger nails eaving bleeding crescent wounds in the palms of his hands where he'd dug them in as his hands balled into fists. He needed a break. He needed to get away from the blood and the stench of fear and the danger if only for a little while. He needed his partner – the only man who would truly understand what he was going through.

Starsky wouldn't be soft with him. He relied on the brunet to deal with him as he would at any other time. They would verbally spar; they would have their easy banter, gently mocking each other and then, when it came time to leave, Starsky would smile at him, lock eyes for just a second or so and the say "see ya" in that casual way of his that meant be careful buddy and watch your back. I love ya man.

Hutch made his excuses – he had a contact that wanted to cut a deal for a kilo of heroin – and left the old factory out in the boon docks to get into his cover car, a Jaguar in deep maroon. The blond drove smoothly away from the Cougar's hideout. He felt the air of oppression leave him as soon as he drove out of the factory gates and as he drove through the quiet of the dilapidated buildings on this side of the city, he found himself wondering how Starsky was faring. The last time he'd seen his partner had been for only a couple of minutes and the brunet had looked to still be in some pain. He'd stopped himself from dropping into "Mom" mode and had refrained from checking with the smaller man was taking his meds and looking after himself. He'd seen the tightness around those indigo eyes, the telltale sign that things were not as happy as they could be in the Starsky household, but the brunet didn't complain, concentrating instead on Hutch's wellbeing.

As Hutch drew up outside Ridgeway, he let out a sigh, checking in his rear view mirror to see that he hadn't been followed. Satisfied the coast was clear, he got quietly out of the car, fished the spare key out of the plant pot containing the single geranium by the door and let himself into the darkened apartment.

The flaxen haired cop looked at his watch. 5:00am. With a soft snicker he knew he'd have an hour to wait before Starsky even started to get himself out of the pit. The brunet was definitely not an early bird! Feeling grimy, not only in body but in spirit too he went into Starsky's bathroom, got a fresh towel from the cupboard and set the water running. It felt deliciously luxurious to be in his friend's house, safe and sound and able for a while at least to allow himself to relax. Hutch let the water cascade down over his shoulders as he stood with his beck resting against the tiled wall. He closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing each muscle group in turn until he felt warm and boneless. Turning the water off, he got out of the shower and towelled himself dry briskly. He stared at the tattoo on his upper arm morosely. He'd never expected that! To refuse the gang colours though would have put paid to any trust Sal would have for him and so he'd submitted to the artist's needle, gritting his teeth not at the pain but at the thought of what the tattoo meant. Thank God for plastic surgery at the end of all this. He'd even suffer the pain of a skin graft to get rid of the mark.

Hutch got himself dressed again. He would dearly have loved a change of clothes, but knew he'd never be able to explain that away when he got back to The Cougars. So instead, he shouldered back into the unofficial uniform of the gang – tight black tee shirt with sleeves cut short enough to reveal the tattoo and black jeans. What he wouldn't give for his comfortable cords and shirts right now, although he doubted they'd fit him properly any more. The weeks of training he'd done had added muscle to his upper body while he'd lost weight around his waist and hips. The cords would probably hang from him anyway.

The blond cop opened the door of the bathroom and walked out into the living room just as the bedroom door opened and Starsky emerged looking sleep dazed and with his hair mussed.

'Hutch!'

'No, Santa Claus' Hutch grinned.

'What the hell are ya doin' here buddy? Not that I'm not glad to see ya but…..are you ok? Are ya sick, or hurt…..?'

Hutch sighed. 'I'm fine.'

'Uh huh, and the Pope aint Catholic! You wouldn't come around here unless there was sumthin. Tell me.'

'It was a heavy night. I just needed some space.'

'Heavy huh? As in….'

The blond smiled wryly 'As in blood and guts, yeah. Have ya got any granola?'

Starsky snickered. 'When did you ever know me to have granola? I got Ricicles, toast, pepperoni pizza or some garlic sausage. Take your pick.'

'Some things don't change' Hutch said rummaging through the cupboard. He took out the Ricicles, read the label and stuffed them back onto the shelf again. 'Is it wholegrain toast?'

'Nope. White as the driven snow. How many slices?'

'Two. Thanks.' Hutch sat down at the table as Starsky busied himself with the toast, coffee and cold pizza.

'So how goes it chez Milano?' the brunet asked as he put the toast down in front of his partner.

'Didn't Markham and Chun tell you?' Hutch asked.

Starsky sighed deeply. 'I don't think they like me too much. How can I say this? We communicate through Dobey, an' I don't think even he has the full picture. I hate this Blondie. How the hell can I watch your back when I don't know where your back is gonna be from one minute to the next?'

'Maybe they're tryin' to protect you' the blond mumbled through a mouthful of bread.

'Who? The Doright Brothers? Protect me? That's funny Hutch. Sometimes you really crack me up. I mean it. If there's sumthin goin' down, I should know about it.'

Hutch put his toast down and took a drink of coffee. 'I don't know the dates yet, but I do know Sal is getting' jumpy. He and Radio are supposed to be getting a big shipment pretty soon. Once I know who the police mole is, I can get the word back to Markham and then I'm outa there. We just have to bide our time buddy.'

'I hate waitin'. You know I'm useless at waitin'. I was never any good at it in the Army' Starsky whined. 'I need action.'

'And I need a partner in one piece and someone who isn't gonna blow my cover' Hutch insisted. 'But there is somethin' you can do for me buddy.'

'Name it' Starsky said a little too quickly.

'You know Kiko's involvement with Sal?'

The brunet's face fell. 'Uh huh, an' I know how much it hurt you when they put him into juvi. It was for his own protection Hutch, you know that.'

Hutch nodded and sighed. 'I know. But if ya get time, d'ya think you could go see him maybe. I would but…… I don't want him to think I've given up on him or some shit like that.'

Starsky nodded. 'Sure, soon as I…..'

Hutch reached for his toast again just as the door to Starsky's apartment burst open. The two cops hit the ground by the side of the table in record time. Starsky was unarmed – even he didn't carry his gun in his PJ pants, but Hutch had his loaned Glock pistol drawn and aimed as he hit the floor, his arms outstretched as he trained the bead on the two men by the doorway.

'Shit' Markham yelled as he threw himself to one side of the room and ricocheted off the cane chair in the corner. Chun threw himself the other way as Hutch put up his gun and thumbed on the safety. He and Starsky got to their feet.

'Well aint that a pretty sight?' Hutch asked as Markham got to up and dusted down his trousers. 'What the hell do you think you're doin'?'

'I could ask you the same question Hutchinson. Shouldn't you be out at the factory right now? I thought we made it clear that you were to have no contact with Detective Starsky.'

'You got no right to dictate who he sees an' don't see' Starsky growled, his left index finger pointing unwaveringly at Markham.

The Fed turned and stared contemptuously at the brunet. 'You can shut your pie hole Mister. You have no part in this and we'll be filing a report with your Captain. We want you out of the way till this thing goes down.'

'Oh now wait a….' Starsky started as Hutch held him back.

'See that's just the sort of hot headed behaviour that's gonna a get Detective Hutchinson into trouble' the Fed muttered. 'And you Hutchinson, get your butt back over to the factory and don't come around here again. Clear?'

Hutch's eyes were cold jewels of blue ice as he glared back at Markham. 'Crystal' he muttered. He turned back to his partner. 'Starsk, leave it. It's nearly over. A couple more….'

'Hutchinson, shut it. Keep your mouth closed and get the hell outa here now!' Chun yelled as he got a hold of Hutch by his arm. The cop yanked it away, looked back over his shoulder at Starsky and grinned. 'Don't ya just love it when they come over all masterful?' he grinned. 'See you around buddy.'

'See ya' Starsky muttered, glaring malevolently at the two Feds.

As Hutch got into his car and drove away anyone looking down the street would see a man in an unmarked black panel truck reach for a microphone and speak quietly into it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

'What the hell? What gives you the right to came breakin' into my house like a whirlwind from Hades?' Starsky yelled. The two Feds stood impassively as Starsky's face went turkey cock red and he paced the room.

'We have every right when the whole fucking job is in jeopardy' Markham said quickly.

'The only thing in jeopardy is my partner right now but you don't seem to care a dime about him. What is it with you guys? Does the FBI breed automatons? Do they remove your emotions once you sign up, if you ever had any to begin with? Or maybe you're just all cloned huh?'

'The FBI picks its men because of their control, Detective, something you would seem to know very little about' Chun said coldly.

'Control? This aint control, its downright carelessness. There is a man, a damned good man who just so happens to be my partner. He's undercover doing your dirty work. He's at the pointy end of things just coz you two don't have the balls to do it yourself. And from what I can see you're takin' a pretty cavalier attitude to his safety. I've told ya about…'

'You've told us squat. What you've done is put your ego before your friend's safety. You think you can do more for Detective Hutchinson than we can?'

'I know damned well I can' the brunet yelled, his face now mere inches from Markham's.

'I'm gonna say this just once. Back off and leave this to the guys who know what's going down.'

'I'd rather leave my partner in a pit of rattlers than leave him to your "care". As for backin' off…..'

'Don't force me to do something we'll both regret' Markham fixed Starsky with a glare.

'You? I'd like to see ya try' the hot headed cop grunted as Chun came at him from behind. Starsky whirled, ready to face the Chinese man but at the same time he caught a glimpse of Markham readying his cuffs from his back pocket. As Chun came at him again, the brunet felt cold metal circle his right wrist. With a yell, he rounded on the other Fed, using the loose handcuff as a weapon and flailing it around him, widening his safety zone by another foot or so.

'Is that all ya got?' he taunted as Markham backed up a step. 'Does it take two of ya to take me?' Starsky crouched ready for anything as Chun came at him again. His eye focused on the one man, Starsky wasn't quick enough to dodge the punch from Markham that seemed to come from nowhere and his head snapped sideways, the Fed's fist catching him on the left temple by the side of his eye. Staggering back, Chun leaped onto Starsky's back, his hands twined around the brunet's throat, cutting off his airway. Starsky grunted, whirling again, trying to dislodge the man from his windpipe. He overbalanced, his equilibrium upset by his passenger and tripped over his own coffee table, landing heavily as his face connected with the corner of the wooden furniture. He gasped as blood started to flow from a cut over his left eyebrow and shook his head to clear it.

The pause was all that Markham needed and swiftly he bent, pulled Starsky's left hand behind his back to join his right and clipped the second cuff into place.

'You arrestin' me?' Starsky muttered.

'Let's just say we're gonna make sure you stay out of the way' Chun smiled, panting slightly.

'And what about Hutch?'

Chun pulled Starsky to his feet. 'Let us worry about him. For the time being Starsky, you aint a cop and you don't have a partner. Got that?'

Defiance shone back from troubled indigo blue eyes. 'I'll believe that when my Captain tells me and not before. I'm not takin' orders from two no good flakes who wouldn't know a Smith and Wesson from a hunk of tin.'

Markham grinned savagely. 'From your Captain huh? That can be arranged.' Without room for further argument, the two grey suited Feds grabbed a hold of the cop's arms and propelled him towards the door. Starsky, for his part dug his heels in, refusing to make it too easy for either man, but his head ached viciously from the blow and the fall and eventually he gave up, gritting his teeth as Chun put his hand on top of the curly head, helping Starsky into the waiting car.

The drive down town was accomplished in uncomfortable silence. With his hands pinned behind his back, the metal cuffs dug uncomfortably into the brunet's spine. His mind raced, but he tried to harness his temper, feeling that Dobey would quite rightly back him up and show Chun and Markham the error of their ways.

The city flashed by, the sun coming up over the mountains in the distance and sending coral and pink tendrils across the deep blue of the horizon. By the time the car drew up outside the big, square stone façade of the Metro, the sidewalks were lit by the early morning sun and the air held the fresh, cool quality of a morning that promised to turn into another hot one.

Markham stopped the car and Chun opened the back door. Starsky slowly got out of the car, looking around him and silently followed the two men inside. A couple of the men on duty at the reception desk raised their eyebrows at seeing one of their own cuffed and being taken down to the interview rooms, but by the set of Markham's jaw, no one commented and within minutes, the brunet was seated inside the white painted room with a number 5 on the door. As with every other interview room, it held four chairs of the wooden, utilitarian variety and a square desk anchored to the floor by solid bolts. Starsky was more used to being the other side of the fence as he now sat, still cuffed, eyeing Chun morosely while Markham went in search of Dobey.

'Can we get rid of the bracelets?' the curly haired man asked in a monotone.

'No.' The reply wasn't considered and it was clear Chun was as pissed as his partner.

'Terrific' Starsky mumbled and tried to sit back in the chair. He stared at the floor, wondering if Hutch had got back to the factory and was lost in his thoughts enough that he jumped when the door to the small room opened and Markham and Dobey entered. The portly black man took one look at his handcuffed officer and blew his top.

'You told me you needed me to talk to Starsky. You didn't tell me he'd been arrested' he yelled, sweat beading on his forehead.

'He isn't arrested, but he didn't want to come down town. This was the only way we could get him here.'

'We don't use handcuffs for coercion Markham. Get those bracelets off of him right now' Dobey ordered.

'You tell him Cap'n.' Starsky grinned.

The captain whirled. 'And you. Keep your mouth shut, or so help me I'll shut it for you.'

The brunet promptly closed his mouth, but the humorous twinkle remained in his eyes and he blew a cheeky kiss at Markham as Chun released the cuffs. Starsky sat rubbing his wrists and waiting for the next move.

'I want him out of the way. I told you he was a loose canon and if we leave it any longer he's gonna blow the whole thing' Markham explained, ignoring Starsky completely.

'Why? What's happened now?'

'Hutch came to see me and these two goons took exception to it' the brunet muttered.

'Hutchinson came to….. why? Is he ok?' Dobey asked.

'Ask Laurel and Hardy over there. They seem to know everythin'.'

'Starsky!'

The cop shrugged his shoulders. 'I dunno Cap'n. I got the feelin' sumthin was wrong, but we didn't exactly have time for a five course dinner by candlelight. He seemed uptight.'

Dobey sighed. 'He's been under for eight weeks. He's gonna be uptight anyhow. Can't you be more specific?'

Starsky started to open his mouth to answer when Markham stepped in.

'Detective Hutchinson is doing just fine. He's in with Milano and Sal trusts him. He should get the information we need within weeks if not sooner.'

'If he isn't dead first' Starsky muttered.

'See Captain? That's just the sort of behaviour we come to expect from…..'

Dobey rounded on the Fed. 'You keep your nose out of my man's business, ya hear. Seems to me that if anyone is to blame for tonight it's you two. How quiet can you keep a job when two suits go breakin' into a cop's house huh? Starsky and Hutchinson have worked together for a few years now. They know each other's moves. If Starsky thinks his partner is in trouble you should think seriously about it.'

'Yes but…..'

Dobey drew himself up to his full height and glared at Markham. 'I said shut it. Now wait outside while I talk to my man huh? Out. Now!'

The two Feds looked as though they were about to start another argument, but saw the look on the black man's face, thought better of it and moved quietly out of the room, closing the door behind them.'

Starsky grinned. 'Thanks Cap. Those two turkeys were beginnin' to bug me. I…'

Dobey rounded on the brunet. 'Shut it Starsky. They have a point. Hutchinson can't keep his cover going if he's comin' to see you. Did he give you any information?'

'No, but….'

'Then he shouldn't have come, it's as simple as that. And to my mind there's only one way to stop him and that's for you to not be here.'

'Oh now hold on Cap'n' Starsky got to his feet.

'Don't "hold on Cap'n" me. Much as I hate to admit it, they're right. This job took six months to set up. It's costs thousands and Hutchinson is close to finding who the mole is. I can't jeopardise the job goin' wrong now, so I'm taking you off duty.'

'What?' The brunet's forehead creased as he started to argue.

'I told ya Starsky, can it. I can't trust you to keep out. You and Hutchinson are too close. I can't blame you for wanting to watch your partner's back, hell, Elmo and me were as close as you two are, I know what it means. But you have to back off, and if you won't follow orders, then you're just gonna have to take a leave of absence. A duty cop can't be seen to be interferin'. Can he?'

Light dawned in the curly head. 'But an unofficial cop who was on leave maybe…..'

'What you do in your own time isn't my concern Starsky, but be careful. Just coz you're not on duty doesn't mean those two turkeys won't be watchin' you. Steer clear as much as you can huh? Lay low, keep your ear to the ground, but try not to go swimmin' in Sal Milano's soup.'

'Sure thing Cap'n. Lay low and don't go lookin' for trouble. I got it.'

Dobey sighed heavily. 'I know you've got it, but somehow trouble seems to follow you and Hutchinson around.'

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The man in the black panel truck picked up the microphone and pressed the transmit button.

'Seems Keith Hurst isn't who he seems. Your informant was right, Sal. Keith Hurst is really Detective Ken Hutchinson.'

The tinny voice came back over the airwaves. 'I thought as much. Where did he go and what did he do?'

'He visited his partner, one Detective David Starsky. Didn't spend too much time with them, the Feds broke in and Hurst….. Hutchinson left. He's on his way back. Do you want him to have an accident?'

'No, I don't think so.'

'But boss, he's a fuckin' cop!'

There was a sigh down the line. 'There's an old saying. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. I think we've just found a new use for Mr Hutchinson. Who better to deal with his partner than our blond double crosser? Once he's had the treatment, he'll be putty in our hands. Hurry back Radio, unless you want to miss the beginning.'

The mic. went dead and the man in the truck put it carefully on the dash board, grinned and prepared to follow the maroon Jag back home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Hutch drove his Jaguar through the large wrought iron gates to the factory that Salvador Milano used as the Cougar's base. The factory was in the middle of nowhere, a huge stone fortress of a place that had once ground flour and made bread but had fallen into disuse over the years. It stood in solitary splendour in the middle of grounds that at one time would have been the pride and joy of the owners and employees, but were now a huge, overgrown wilderness given over to weeds and grass. From its centre, the huge stone edifice loomed, squat, grey and ugly, its grime caked windows glowering out at the world as though threatening visitors to open its doors and enter. It was exactly what Sal required. Imposing in the extreme, it was big enough to accommodate his needs, remote enough for them not to be bothered by nosy intruders and the old machinery which was creaky and dusty, still worked efficiently enough and could when the need arose be put to all kinds of uses. Driving back up the once grand driveway, Hutch had the sickening feeling once again in the pit of his stomach as the building loomed out of the early morning mist and he knew he had to face the Cougars for another few days at least.

He felt more settled and at peace after he'd seen Starsky. The previous night and the death of the young man had been the last nail in the coffin of his frayed nerves. Salvador had given the orders to kill the debtor, but it was Radio, his main henchman and a few of the others who had carried out the sentence. Milano never soiled his own hands with the blood of his victims. He paid good money for others to do his dirty work for him. Hutch had found it difficult to think of an excuse not to get involved in the beating and subsequent murder. Employed as Sal's right hand man, he should have been in the thick of things, but however good he was at undercover work, there were some things that were above and beyond the call of duty. Killing was one of them.

The blond needed a friendly and familiar face. He needed to distance himself, if only for a few hours from the death and pain and gloom that the factory engendered. At first, he'd thought it safer just to go to the Pits and hang out with Huggy for a couple of hours. There would have been less suspicion in him going to the bar for a drink, but by the time he'd got away from the factory, it was the early hours of the morning and too late even for Huggy's to be open. Apart from that, Hutch had felt the need for the comfort of seeing his partner again. Starsky was sometimes a pain in the butt, his ceaseless talking often left Hutch yearning for peace and quiet, but he was the best friend the blond had ever had and when the smaller man wasn't around, Hutch never felt truly safe. However, his stupid pride would never allow him to tell the Starsky that the brunet had been right all along and that Hutch should never have taken the job, or just how creaped out he was by the assignment, or how scared he felt most of the time.

Sal was evil. There was no other way to describe him. Tall, gaunt, he shaved his head so that he was bald as a coot and stood out in a crowd. He always wore a black suit, white shirt and blood red tie. When he smiled, he showed off the gold capped front tooth, giving him a slightly unreal, exotic and somehow macabre appearance, He also kept his business a tightly guarded secret, in fact despite Hutch's best endeavours, Sal proved to be (as Hutch's Granddaddy used to say) tighter that a duck's ass – which was watertight. However Hutch tried to get information from Sal, he always came up blank. The man was cleverly evasive. When he met with his contacts he did so in private or chose other meeting places, always going alone with his gun as his only backup. The Feds had told the flaxen haired cop that there was a mole in BCPD. How else could the weapons go missing once they were in supposedly secure lock ups? Hutch best endeavours though came up empty. The blond knew the Feds were right, he also knew that Sal met with a mystery contact regularly and that after the meetings there was always a flurry of business, with Bay City's low lives and bigger dealers from out of town coming to buy weapons and sometimes the drugs that the Cougars peddled as a sideline but as for who the mystery man was, or how he connected to the Metro, The cop was no further forwards.

Hutch pulled the Jag to a halt around the side of the factory out of the sight of any prying eyes. Taking a deep breath, he paused a moment, getting himself back into his alter ego's character. Keith Hurst was cool, hard and calculating. He did nothing in a rush and had a laconic, laid back way of speaking. Hutch found it tough to remain so cold all the time, but years of undercover work had honed his acting skills. "You can never truly get into character until you've walked around in their shoes" a famous actor once said, and for the blond cop it was the truth of the matter. Dressed in black tee shirt, black jeans and loafers, he at least felt like a different man, and had even started to walk differently, emulating the strut his partner always managed to carry off with such practiced ease. Sure he was back in that mind set, the blond man got out of the car and walked around the corner to the front door. He pushed against it, letting himself in quietly to the darkened interior, his cover story still going through his mind.

As Hutch stepped into the entrance hall the door suddenly swung to behind him and closed with a deafening clang that echoed around the vast interior. The blond jumped and tried to turn around to see what was going on, only to feel strong hands circle his wrists and force both his arms painfully up his back. The force caused him to lean forward to ease the discomfort and he grunted in surprise.

'What the fuck?'

A light burst into existence and Hutch was temporarily blinded. He squinted and struggled against the hands holding him immobile. 'What the hell are ya playin' at?' he growled. 'Sal is gone be…..'

'And what exactly is Sal going to be Mr Hurst?…..Or do I call you Detective Hutchinson?' Salvador Milano's voice asked from behind the light source. Hutch stopped his struggles, his throat suddenly dry. Shit! How had they found out? He'd thought he'd played his part to the hilt. Had he been followed? He was sure he hadn't had a tail - he'd driven around in circles long enough before going to Ridgeway. He tried to keep the surprise off of his face.

'Hutchinson? Who's that? Is this some kind of joke?' he blustered.

'If it is, the joke's on you. I don't like guys like you fuckin' around with my business. It's not nice and it's not clever' Sal walked out from the shadows into Hutch's line of sight.

'Hey, boss! I've no idea what you're talkin' about. I went out to get some fresh air. I always need to drive after we've done a kid in. Kinda gets me wired, you know?'

'As I understand it, you didn't get involved too much. In fact I don't think you lifted a finger.'

'I don't suppose you'd let me explain?' the cop tried.

'Explain away. I'm in the mood for a good laugh. My source says you're Detective Ken Hutchinson of the Bay City Police Department. My source tells me you've been undercover with our little group to try and upset my business. That's just plain rude. My source also tells me you have a partner of whom you're quite fond.' Sal's voice took on a harder quality.

'I don't know what you're talkin' about' Hutch bluffed, trying to the last to keep his cover going. If he was going to get blown away, then at least he may as well go down fighting.

'You mean you don't remember Detective David Starsky? That's amazing! Considering you were there at his apartment earlier on this morning. You seemed quite cozy with him till the Feds turned up. Did they spoil your fond reunion? Did they cramp your style Ken?'

At the mention of Starsky's name Hutch started to struggle again, trying to get his hands free. Radio stood to his right hand side, a leer of enjoyment on his face while Enzo held his left hand in a huge bear claw of a fist. Around Sal, four or five other Cougar members stood in a loose semi circle.

'You leave him outa this. He had nothing to do with any of this, in fact the Feds wanted him out of the way completely' Hutch snapped.

'I never thought I'd say this, but it seems me and the suits want the same thing then, don't we?' Sal grinned.

'You lay one finger on his head and so help me…'

Milano took a step forward until he was inches away from Hutch's face. 'I'm not going to touch him' he smiled coldly. 'You, however, will find it difficult to hold back.'

Hutch stopped and stared open mouthed at the bald man as though he couldn't believe his ears. 'Me? And how exactly do you figure that? You can do what you like to me, but you'll never get me to turn on my partner.'

Sal turned away, dismissing the statement with a wave of his hand. 'Believe me, Ken, when I want to be, I can be most persuasive.' Sal snapped his fingers at Enzo and Radio. 'Take him downstairs and show him to his new quarters. You know what to do.'

The two men nodded and as Sal turned away, they started to propel Hutch towards a door beneath the large staircase. It opened to reveal steps down into the basement – a place Hutch had only ever seen used for "punishments" before. He started to struggle, his feet digging into the wooden floor of the hallway as Radio pushed his arm more firmly up his back. The blond grunted in pain and pushed back, trying to kick out at the two captors, knowing that once he was downstairs, he had even less chance of getting out of the clutches of the gang. His cover was blown, the job was wide open. He needed to start thinking about his own safety.

Without a pause, Enzo gave loose with one hand and cuffed Hutch around the head, catching the cop across his temple. Enzo's hand was huge and the blow savage in its intensity. Hutch saw stars and for a moment, his stomach threatened to rise up into his throat as nausea engulfed him. He felt his knees turn to rubber and some of the fight left him as Enzo took a firmer hold of his arm and dragged him towards the doorway.

With a last desperate effort, Hutch let out a yell, leaned forward as far as he could and tried one last time to dislodge the two men holding him. He managed to break his right arm free from Radio's grasp and whirled to face Enzo again, his fist raised and ready to strike a blow at the big man. Radio let out a bellow of rage as Enzo ducked out of the way of the blow and took his gun from the waistband of his jeans, reversing it and in one fluid motion Radio brought the butt of the weapon down onto the back of the blonds neck. Hutch had a moment's impression of intense pain and something looking suspiciously like fireworks set off inside his head. For a split second he marvelled at the colours before they disappeared and darkness took him, his body sagging between the two men as he fell unconscious, hanging from their grasp.

Radio grinned, panting slightly, put the gun back into his waistband and with Enzo's help, dragged the boneless blond through the door and down the steps, the toes of Hutch's boots leaving dark marks on the floor in his wake.


	5. Chapter 5

**My dear friends. i'm afraid I haven't been able to reply to all your wonderful reviews yet. i am still recovering and don't want t spend too much time on line - so I thought you'd prefer more chapters rather than replies? I do apologise and I will get around to it as soon as I can. in the mean time - here's 5.**

**Love and hugs KW**

**Chapter 5**

Hutch came back to awareness with a bang – quite literally. There was a drum being beaten somewhere close and cymbals clashing like a percussionist in an orchestra gone mad. He opened his eyes, wondering where exactly he was and then closed them again quickly. A strobe light was flickering close to him and the slo-mo effect it had on his world, coupled with the tremendous noise and the raging headache he had threatened to make him spill his supper onto the floor. He realised he was lying on the ground. It was cold and hard and the stone slab laid on the floor leached the warmth from his body through his thin tee shirt. Rolling over onto his back he groaned and started to put his hands up to his head to cover his ears and blot out the cacophony but unseen hands batted his own out of the way. The blond sensed rather than saw people close to him. There was the clank of metal and the sound of a gate being swung open and then more hands on his arms, pulling him to his feet and forcing him forward.

'Where am I?' he managed to gasp as he felt cold hard metal bars against his back. He leaned against them for fear that his rubbery feeling legs would give out and refuse to hold him up.

'Where you belong pig. In the sewer' a rough voice sounded in his ear.

'Don't know what you're talkin' about Hutch mumbled trying to make sense of his surroundings. He remembered coming back to the factory and he remembered them grabbing him as he came in through the door, but as to how he ended up here in this dank and cold place, he had no recollection. Again, he tried to put his hands up to his head to ease the ache and again, the man at his side batted them away, making the blond jump involuntarily. Trying for some relief from the din and the lights, Hutch turned his head sideways and lowered it so that the bright strobe wouldn't be directly in his face.

It was difficult to concentrate with the headache, the noise and the flashing lights, but Hutch stood leaning against the metal bars of what he now saw was an old safe, the metal bars forming the front of the stone room and the door furnished with a huge padlock. Ok, so he was in the basement of the factory – the basement they used when they wanted to punish or take out anyone of the guys who'd not come up to Sal's exacting standards. Great, just peachy and with his calls to the Feds being two weeks apart, there would be no sign of the cavalry coming over the hill. Not even Starsky would suspect that his partner was in trouble this time. There would be no curly haired hellion brandishing a Smith and Wesson peering around the corner ready to get him out of this mess.

'What's your name?' an unseen man asked.

'Huh? You know who I am. Keith Hurst.' Hutch muttered.

'I don't think so. What's your real name?'

'Don't know what you mean' Hutch said thickly. His head pounded and he longed to lie down and sleep for a few hours. After that, he felt that he'd be able to face their questioning, but right now he was sick and dizzy and weak at the knees.

'Just tell us your name.'

'Hurst. Ken….Keith Hurst' Hutch cursed himself for fluffing his undercover name, but he couldn't concentrate with all the sensory overload aimed in his direction. Again the blond tried to reach up to hold his head and again hands pulled his arms down to his sides. Hutch tried shaking his head to try to clear it but the room spun and he sucked in a deep lungful of air to keep from throwing up.

'Wrong. We know who you are. Don't bother pretending. Just tell us your name.'

'If you know it, why do I need to tell ya?' the blond asked weakly. He doubled over as a fist drove into his stomach like a pile driver.

'Not the face' Sal's voice commanded from somewhere in front of the wheezing cop. 'Damage him anywhere else, but not his face.'

The hands returned and pulled the blond upright as he tried to get air back into his lungs. Hutch sucked in oxygen in great rasping gasps as his face creased in pain, but eventually his lungs seemed to start to work again and he managed to shrug off the supporting hands, leaning back against the supporting bars of the safe.

The unseen voice returned. 'We can do this for hours. Can you? Just tell us your name huh?'

Hutch considered. It was obvious his cover was blown. He vaguely remembered now that before he woke in this hell hole they'd called him by his real name and even knew about Starsky. It seemed pointless now to carry on the charade any longer although he would protect his partner's identity and whereabouts as long as he could draw breath. Right now, Hutch figured, he may as well conserve his strength and hope for a chance at escape.

'Hutchinson' he said quietly.

'Didn't hear you.'

'Deaf too huh?' the blond couldn't hold back the retort and again the fist ploughed into him, this time on his back above his kidneys. This time there was no holding back the scream of pain from the blow. The pain was intense and Hutch fell to his knees before anyone could grab him, his head so low that his flaxen bangs trailed on the floor. He stayed immobile for seconds as the lancing pain subsided to a vicious throbbing.

'Do you like pain, cop? All we want is a civilised conversation. Mr Milano asked your name and you won't play nice. Now, tell the boss your name and we can end this.' Hutch recognised Radio's voice now. The big man had been the one leading the attack on the boy the previous night. Radio enjoyed his work a little too much, Hutch thought and he was tireless and predatory and without finer human feelings. The blond knew that Radio wouldn't give up until he was a smear of red on the cold floor of the basement and yet he couldn't resist a final defiant comment.

'He never said please.' The flaxen haired cop tried to ready himself for the blow that would surely follow, but he was unprepared for the intensity of the attack. Radio and Enzo flew at him, their fists and feet flying as they connected with Hutch's body time and again. The blond tried to curl himself into a ball to guard his vulnerable stomach from the worst of the blows, but he felt several kicks land in his solar plexus, driving the breath from his body and making him gasp in huge wracking attempts to get air to his oxygen starved brain.

The attack was vicious in its intensity and Hutch could do nothing but try to ride the blows. Miraculously, the two attackers were careful to avoid his face, as Sal had commanded. As the blows continued to rain down on him, Hutch heard, as though from a distance, Salvador Milano's voice, close to him, telling him he was sorry, but there was no way he could stop Radio and Enzo from hurting Hutch and that in future, it may be best if the cop were to cooperate as much as he could. Hutch's mind tried to process the information. Why would Sal be unable to stop the brutality? And yet the boss man seemed genuinely upset that Hutch was being hurt. Why was that?

Soon, however, Hutch's mind started to close down as his body numbed and the pain levels peaked. He could think of nothing more than where the next kick or punch would land and how he would be able to ride out the excruciating pains. A rib was broken, he could feel that for sure and his arms, legs, chest and back all felt as though they were on fire. A final booted kick to the area just to the side of his spine was the final nail in his coffin and with a scream that echoed around the subterranean room, Hutch finally and blessedly lost consciousness.

Immediately, Radio and Enzo stopped. They were professionals and although they enjoyed their work, they knew it was pointless to waste their energy once their target was unresponsive. The two men stood pack, panting from their exertions and Enzo wiped his hand over his sweat soaked forehead as he looked at the bruised and bleeding heap on the floor.

Sal stepped forward and gently pushed at Hutch's body with the toe of his patent leather shoe. The body rolled slightly with the push, but there was no response from the blond and the bald man took a step back and smiled at his heavies.

'You did good. Put him back in the safe, no food, no water for a while. Keep the lights and the noise going and next time he wakes, let me know huh?'

Radio nodded but Enzo looked puzzled. 'I don't understand boss. Why don't we just waste him and have done with it? He knows too much already.'

Sal gave Enzo a pitying look. 'I'm glad I employ you for muscle and not brain, otherwise you'd be joining the Detective in there. He knows shit. Sure he can ID us, but he don't know where we get our merchandise or how we get it. My contact's name is safe, I made sure of that. In the mean time, what better way to employ a cop than to get rid of another cop? My contact tells me he went to see Dave Starsky, his partner last night. They're tight, the two of 'em, very tight. If this one were to go missing, Starsky would come looking. If he brings Starsky to us, we kill 'em both with minimum effort and we're in the clear. You know me. I like things clean and simple' Sal grinned at the two men.

Enzo still looked confused. 'But if they're so tight boss, why would he go and bring his partner to us?'

Sal cuffed Enzo around the head none too gently. 'Jeez, how'd ya get through life being to stupid huh? Once he's been through the treatment, he'll do anything for me. You'll see, he'll be like a puppy dog eating out of my hand.'

Radio joined in the debate. 'I dunno boss. He's strong. I mean, from what I've seen of him, he won't go down easy.'

'Oh he will. It's the strong ones that make the best subjects. Once I've gotten through to him, he'll do whatever I say, and that includes killing his partner. Now, lock him up, turn the lights and the volume up and let him alone for the next 12 hours. Then we'll see what effect this is having on him. In the mean time, we have work to do. There's another delivery coming in today and I already have buyers lined up.'

Sal watched as Enzo and Radio took a hold of Hutch's arms and dragged him back into the safe. They dumped his body on the floor, walked out of the small stone room and closed the gate behind them, locking it securely. Radio turned the recording of the drums, cymbals and general noise up to maximum volume, made sure it would play on a loop, focused the lights on the front of the safe and left, thankful that he could finally get out of the noise. It was giving him a headache and he hated when he got a headache.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Four hours later, the blond cop opened his eyes again but saw that the same light and noise infested hell was waiting for him in the real world. The bright lights bit at his eyes and the noise reverberated around his aching, pounding head, making his eyes feel as though they would pop out from their sockets. Hutch groaned softly and rolled over onto his side, gasping as his damaged rib bit back with a gnawing, savage pain.

If only the noise would stop, he'd feel better.

If only the lights would dim so that he could get some sleep, he'd feel more like himself.

Pain he could deal with. Pain he understood and the pains now eating away at his consciousness somehow made him feel more aware and more awake. The noises and the lights, however, fought against his senses, eroding his resolve and making him feel fragile and on edge. That's what they were designed to do, Hutch reasoned. He was fully aware of what Sal's men were trying to do to him, although he wondered how his cover had been blown. He'd been careful to ensure he hadn't been followed and he'd also been careful to keep himself deep inside his undercover persona. Whatever had happened, his luck had finally run out and the Cougars were going to make sure he would break, or be killed, whichever came first.

Carefully, Hutch rolled over onto his other side, so that his face was away from the glare of the strobe light. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breathing, forcing his mind away from his pain, his anxiety and his situation and onto his meditation techniques. He slowed his breathing, concentrating on the feel of the breath entering and leaving his body. Try as he might, however, he was unable to close out the flickering white light completely. It echoes around and around his closed eyelids, black and white, black and white while the incessant noise battered at his eardrums, leaving him wanting to scream at them to make it stop.

Hutch put his hands up to his head, holding them over his ears so that the cacophony dulled somewhat. With it muffled by his palms it was almost at bearable levels, but still the lights drove him crazy, allowing him no rest as they lit up his eyes even behind his eyelids. Eventually, in order to get some relief, Hutch took his hands away from his ears and instead ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, giving himself the longed for blackness and relief from the strobe.

Then, however, the noise came back full blast, seeming somehow louder now that he'd muffled it for a little while. The blond enjoyed the darkness for as long as he could endure the loud noises of the drums, clangs, crashes and din of the tape but then with a desperate yell, he covered his ears again, leaving his eyes to adjust to the flickering lights once more.

For an age, the flaxen haired cop alternated between shutting out first the noise and then the lights from his world. Each time he changed his hands around, he felt relief from either the noise or the strobe, but each time, the relief lasted for shorter and shorter periods until there was no respite at all.

Sweat covered his body now and Hutch longed for a drink to ease his parched throat. There was no water in his cell, nor did he really expect any. It wouldn't be good practice for his captors to make his stay with them in the least bit comfortable, but the thirst was just one more discomfort that the blond had to deal with, and it was one discomfort too much.

Lurching to his feet, Hutch limped to the bars of the stone room and clutched them with trembling hands.

'HEYYYY' he yelled in the direction of the stone steps leading up to the ground floor. 'HEYYY.'

There was no reaction to his calls, but the attempt made the blond feel better and he turned his back on the empty basement and leaned against the bars. His back and chest hurt with a fierce throbbing pain and through rips in his tee shirt, he could see bruises starting to form across his tanned torso. Hutch expected his back was similarly decorated and as he tried to move, his rib sent shock waves through his body, taking his breath away for a moment.

A noise behind him made the blond turn around in time to see Radio and Enzo coming down the steps. Silently Hutch let out a groan. He felt like shit and certainly in no condition for another round with the dynamic duo, and yet both heavies had that predatory air and evil glint in their eyes that signified they were happy to be having the opportunity to instigate round two. Quietly, Hutch backed away from the front of the safe. He swallowed nervously, the beating he'd endured and the hours of the sensory stimuli battering at his eyes and ears leaving him feeling on edge and unready.

Without a word, Enzo unlocked the gate to the safe and the two big men descended on the wary blond, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him out of his cell. Again they forced him up against the bars of the safe and again adjusted the lights until they were shining directly into Hutch' s eyes. The cop squinted, lowering his head to try and alleviate the pains in his eyes brought on by the brightness of the strobe light. Hutch felt a trickle of cold sweat run down the ridge of his spine and he tried to shield his eyes from the light. Radio grabbed Hutch's writs and forced it down and for a moment the blond cop struggled with his captor.

Radio and Enzo, however, were far stronger than their prisoner. They hadn't endured hours of light and sound and a beating that would laid out a lot of men. They held Hutch back against the cold metal bars as another unknown voice sounded from somewhere behind the lights.

'What's your name?'

'You know my fuckin' name. What's this all about?' Enzo cuffed Hutch across the temple, the blow surprising the cop and causing an involuntary yelp. 'Hutchinson' he said quietly. No use asking for more punishment. They already knew that much anyway.

'And you're a cop?'

'Give the man a prize' Hutch spat angrily. 'What is this, Jeopardy or somethin'?'

'What's your partner's name?'

Hutch's mind went onto red alert. Now they were getting to it! 'Don't have one' he muttered. A fist drove into his already fractured rib and Hutch screamed, doubling over with the pain.

'Don't try to be clever pig. It only makes it more painful. What's the name of your partner?'

Hutch tried to look at the man talking to him. He raised his hand to try to shield his eyes from the lights, but once again it was pushed down. The blond shook his head. Thinking was becoming difficult. Too many sensations assailing him at one time. The noises seemed louder, the lights seemed brighter and the pains more intense. His nerves were on the point of shattering and yet he'd sustained worse injuries than this in the past. He took a deep breath. What had they asked him? Oh yeah, they wanted Starsky's name. Fuddled as his brain was, however, that answer was one Hutch knew he mustn't give. His instinct to protect his buddy was ingrained in him and even this conditioning wouldn't bring about a betrayal of Starsky's trust.

'I told ya…..work alone' Hutch said wearily. He felt exhausted, tired beyond anything he'd felt before, but more than that, he felt more alone and more scared than he'd ever felt on any other job. The treatment he'd received at the hands of the Cougars had so far been painful, but nothing to what he'd encountered in the past, but someone had done their homework on conditioning techniques and this light and sound treatment, meant to break down resolve in even the strongest minds was working just a little too well.

'You work with a partner, we know that. Tell us his name' the impassive voice commanded, now inches away from him.

'If ya know…..why ask me?'

Again a blow, this time to his back, and this time, Hutch sank to his knees, panting and holding his head.

Make the noise stop.

Turn out the light.

Gimme some peace, just for a little while, then we can carry on.

'Tell us his name' the voice asked again, loud over the drum beats and clashing of cymbals.

Hutch concentrated on the words. What had they asked him? Tell us his name? Who's name? Which name did they want? 'Huh?' he asked, squinting upwards.

'Your partner….. what is his name?'

'He's…. his name is…..name is…..Robin an' I'm Batman' Hutch grinned up. 'Ya got me but you won't get him ya son-of-a-bitch.'

Fists and feet once again began to fly and once again Hutch could do nothing but curl himself into a ball and try to ride out the storm. This time, however, the beating didn't last as long as somewhere in the distance, Sal's voice rang out.

'Stop!'

Hutch curled himself into a ball. He spat out the coppery taste of blood from his mouth and closed his eyes, panting and holding his head in his hands. There was suddenly blessed silence in the room and the strobe light turned off, although for a while the difference didn't register with the blond man on the ground.

Hutch flinched as he felt a hand on his back and tried to turn away, but Sal held onto him and Hutch sensed rather than saw the cup held out to him.

'I stopped them as soon as I could' Milano said. 'Here, drink this, you'll feel better.' The bald man held out a cup and gratefully Hutch took it and swallowed down the cool water, letting the liquid satin ease his parched throat. Sal took the cup away from the blond's bloody hand and rested his hand on Hutch's back.

'I'm gonna have them leave you alone' he said softly. 'But you need to think about co-operating. I can't keep them away for ever.'

Hutch looked up into the deep brown eyes of the man. Why was Sal helping him? And yet, Hutch felt such a rush of gratitude to the man he'd taken to be the hard nosed boss of the operation that the only thing he could think of to say was 'thanks.'

Sal nodded to Radio and Enzo who took a hold of Hutch and hauled him to his feet. The blond cop stood swaying with weariness between the two huge men, his head hanging down and his eyes barely able to keep open. The dark and the silence cocooned him, easing away his fears and his anxiety. Hutch felt almost relaxed despite the bruises and cuts showing across his back, chest and limbs. He could find peace now that the lights and noise had gone. That was all that mattered.

Hutch barely struggled as Radio and his buddy manhandled him back into the safe. He sank down to the floor with a weary sigh as he heard the clang of the metal gate and the sound of the key in the padlock. The blond eased himself down until he was lying on his left, least injured side. The floor was hard, but he cushioned his head on the crook of his arm, his eyes closing even as he heard the footsteps receding, but just as he began to drift into a painful but more relaxed sleep, the noise and lights of his nightmares returned.

Hutch sat up, looking around him wildly. He was just in time to see Sal walking back up the steps out of the basement and he flung himself against the bars, grabbing hold of them with skinned and bloody knuckles.

'Nooooo' he yelled pitifully. 'Please……tell 'em to turn it off……please!'

His plea went unheard, or Sal just plain ignored him and as the door to the basement slammed shut, leaving Hutch alone once again in his noise and strobe filled world, the blond pulled himself away to the farthest corner of the safe, his back to the room and curled himself into a ball with a whimper. Slowly, he started to rock backwards and forwards, his arms wrapped around his knees as he tried desperately to quell the rising tide of panic in his chest and shut out the sensory overload around him.

Upstairs, Radio and Enzo followed Sal into his office.

'He's gonna crack any time' Radio grinned as he sat down.

'He should do. There was enough Ritavarin in that water to make a sloth jumpy. By tomorrow, he should be ready to do anything for me to get out of that basement. He'd probably kill his mother if we promised him we'd turn off the sound' Sal said contentedly.

'So what boss? Tomorrow we tell him to get Starsky?'

Milano sighed deeply. 'And once again your tiny brain refuses to work. Tomorrow, once he's on the verge of his breakdown, we start to work with him in earnest.'


	7. Chapter 7

**I hope everyone had a wonderful, peaceful and friend filled Christmas and that you are all looking forward to a good New Year.**

**Chapter 7**

Hutch remained huddled in the corner for the rest of the night. Sleep however would not come and steadily his nerves became more and more frayed by the constant assault on his senses. At the same time, he felt as though he were slipping into a fantasy world where he no longer knew what was reality and what was make believe. In one of his more lucid moments, he thought that Sal might have slipped something into the drink of water he'd been given but he was unsure whether he was drugged or simply going crazy.

As time wore on the strobe light seemed to take on a wavering, ghostly appearance, its colours changing from brilliant white to a psychedelic mix of colours that morphed from orange through pinks to purple, blue, green, red and yellow. The drum beats and clashes from the never ending recording also changed, seeming to Hutch to play some semblance of a tune. He found he was breathing in time to the staccato beat, the words of songs going around and around in his head like a mad version of some Whirlitzer fairground organ.

Looking down at his hands, Hutch's arms seemed to be ten feet long, his fingers reaching out into infinity and his finger nails turning bright blood red. Cautiously he raised his hand to his eyes and his fingers turned from digits to a nest of hissing snakes, their heads striking at his face.

The blond giggled, a manic, paranoid giggle. 'You've lost it Hutchinson. My God, you've lost it big time' he said out loud, the words adding to the musical cacophony in his head. He started to sing the words to himself, humming a tuneless tune over and over as he continued to rock back and forth facing the bare stone wall.

'Lost it……lost it…….Hutchy boy has lost it……lost…..'

Time ceased to have any meaning for the blond. He hurt, there was no disguising that and as time went on, he seemed to hurt more and more, but the pains seemed to take second place now to the sounds and the lights and the feeling that he was slowly losing his mind and going mad. Eventually, his exhausted body gave up the unequal fight with gravity and slipped sideways so that Hutch slumped onto the ground, but his eyes refused to close and he still found no rest, even though waves of weariness washed over him like a morning tide.

However long it was later, another sound permeated his crazed ramblings and Hutch was dimly aware that the gate to the safe had swung open once more. He jumped as someone touched his skin and the touch felt like hundreds and thousands of red hot needles being driven into his skin. His flesh was hyper sensitive, but Radio and Enzo didn't seem to notice the cry of pain or the way Hutch flinched from their touch. Instead, they hauled the blond cop to his feet and started to drag him from the safe.

'No……son-of-a-bitch……lemme go……leave me 'lone……gonna kill ya' Hutch moaned, the small part of his mind that was still in touch with reality still wanting to fight to the bitter end.

'Uh huh, if ya get chance pig. In the mean time, we're gonna take a little trip upstairs' Enzo snapped, taking a firmer hold of Hutch's right arm.

Radio snickered. 'Looks like he's takin' a little trip all of his own.'

'Yeah, boss man said it'd send him over the edge. Looks like he's been this way before' Enzo agreed seeing Hutch's staring eyes and the sweat soaked bangs of dark golden hair.

Together the two men dragged Hutch up the steps and out into the light of day again. Up here, in the warmth and the dry air, away from the incessant sounds of the drums and the constant assault of the lights, the blond cop's mind started to work a little faster. Not that Hutch felt much better, but at least his nerves weren't as on edge as down in that stinking basement.

There was a larger room on the first floor of the factory. Once upon a time it had been used as the grinding room for the flour to make the bread and pastries the old factory had been famous for. Now, it stood in splendid disarray, the coating of years of old flour sat thick on the floor and the sparse furnishings, but at the very centre of the room, the old millstone and its heavy mechanism for propelling it stood ready as ever. The stone sat squat on a bed of granite, its centre punctured by a large metal rod connected to an amazing display of huge cogs and gears. A cog wheel mirroring the millstone's size hung above its counterpart and it was to this that Enzo and Radio pulled the drug befuddled blond. Hutch didn't really take in his surroundings. His body and mind were too exhausted to fully realise what was going on. He didn't even have the strength to protest as Enzo grabbed a hold of his wrists and pulled them behind his back, securing them with duct tape before Radio dropped a noose of course rope over his head. That brought the cop up short and his eyes flew open.

'Nooo, fuckers' he managed to howl as the end of the noose was flung over the topmost cog wheel and secured. Hutch tried to pull away, but the rope bit more tightly into his neck and the loop tightened alarmingly.

Enzo crossed the room and fiddled with a simple control panel on a desk. Moments later, the cog above Hutch sprung into lumbering life and it started to revolve slowly – at a medium walking pace. The noose tightened around the cop's neck once more and he was forced to walk around in a circle, following the cog in order to stop himself being strangled. Hutch lurched around, hands secured behind his back and one leaden foot following the other as the cog continued its revolutions.

By the side of him, Radio grinned at his buddy. 'A day of this, an' he'll be eatin' out of our hands' he said and settled down on a chair to watch Hutch's lonely progress around the millstone.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Darkness had fallen, the night had worn on and light was beginning to brighten the huge room when Salvador Milano walked in, 13 hours later. During that time, Hutch had been forced to walk and walk, the cog wheel never stopping in its steady progress around in circles. Machines didn't need to sleep. Metal and stone never needed rest, but human beings, however strong, were made of softer stuff. Hutch had been forced to walk for thirteen hours without a break. He'd gone without food and rest for almost 48 hours and during that time, he'd had only the one, drug tainted drink. The blond was on the verge of collapse. Exhaustion didn't come close to describing his state. He was an automaton, his legs working mechanically to propel him round and round in the circle, attached to the mechanical cog. Sweat streaked the back of his tee shirt and dripped from the dark golden bangs of his hair. His limbs trembled with fatigue and yet he stubbornly refused to allow the two goons to see how close to collapse he was. If he could just keep going, maybe somehow, Starsky would feel something was wrong and come get him. Yeah, Hutchinson, and maybe pigs'll fly!

Sal took one look at the weary cop, clicked his fingers at his two heavies and grunted 'Bring him' before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Radio stopped the machine and Hutch came to a ragged halt although he'd been in motion for so long that it felt as though he were still moving. He stood with head bowed, gasping as Enzo untied his wrists and removed the noose. Without strength even to rub life back into his deadened arms, Hutch allowed himself to be manhandled while Enzo and Radio pulled him into a small room at the back of the factory, one that one of the foremen would probably have used as an office. It was sparsely furnished with only two chairs. Paint peeled off the walls and a small, barred window provided only enough light to illuminate the centre of the room. The corners remained in shadow and leant an air of austerity to the place.

Enzo dumped Hutch down onto the larger of the two chairs. It was a heavy wooden affair with wide spread, solid legs and arms and a high back. Hutch had neither the strength nor the inclination to fight or struggle as Radio used several lengths of wire to secure his arms to the chair arms and his legs to the front chair legs. A third wire was passed around his chest beneath his armpits, ensuring that the blond had to sit upright, facing the second chair and a blank wall.

From the shadows, Sal emerged slowly, like a demonic spectre in a horror film. He stood behind Hutch's chair so that the blond couldn't see him and in front of the bound cop the blank wall flared into Technicolor life with a large picture of Starsky, dressed in his worn brown leather jacket, emerging from his Torino.

'Let's start from the top, shall we? Name.'

Hutch concentrated on the voice. After all that time alone with the noise downstairs and then the incessant creaking of the millstone, he found it odd that it was difficult to decipher what the one, single voice was saying. A hand grabbed at his hair and pulled his head back sharply.

'I asked you your name.'

'We been this way b'fore' Hutch mumbled wearily. 'Know my name……Hutchinson.'

'And your partner's name?'

'Dunno what you're talkin' 'bout' the obstinate blond muttered, trying to get his brain to start working again.

'The picture in front of you. That's your partner. What's his name?'

'Mickey Mouse.'

'I don't think so. Tell me his name. His name, that's all I want, his name. Tell me his name' the voice shouted making the blond flinch away.

'Fuck you' Hutch mumbled defiantly. 'Go t'hell. You got me…..don't need him.'

'So you admit you have a partner' the voice persisted.

Hutch paused a moment. They'd tricked him. He'd acknowledged he worked with someone. Shit! Can it Hutchinson. Keep you mouth shut huh?

'Don't admit nothin'.'

'So you wanna do this the hard way?'

Hutch raised his head and grinned weakly. 'Whatever you want. I'm not tellin' ya squat.'

'I think you will. I think you're gonna sing like a canary by the time we've finished with you. Radio. Gimme the stuff.'

Hutch heard the sounds of a box opening and the next moment, his heart lurched into his mouth as Enzo pulled up the sleeve of his tee shirt and fitted a length of rubber tubing around his forearm, pulling it tight. 'No…..no, don't do that. Don't gimme that' the blond yelled as the needle came closer to his vein. Visions of Ben Forest and his goons were still too fresh in Hutch's mind for him to have fully gotten over his forced addiction and the fear of becoming hooked on horse again was almost more than the flaxen haired cop could bear.

He screamed a lone, forlorn scream as the tip of the cold metal punctured his skin and the drug flowed into his veins, but surprisingly he didn't feel the immediate warmth and floating sensation associated with the heroin. Instead, the drug felt icy cold flowing into his blood stream. There was no sense of wellbeing, just a tiredness that seemed to flow up from his feet and he shook his head in surprise. No rush, just tiredness and an overwhelming feeling of wanting to go to sleep. Were they going to kill him this way? Were they overdosing him on some sleeping drug? Would he ever wake up? More to the point, did it really matter?

Hutch wasn't the only one who was surprised by the blond's reaction. Sal Milano too was wondering what in the cop's background had happened to cause a reaction like the terror he'd just witnessed. Milano grinned to himself. With the truth serum working on Hutch's already weakened defences, he'd find out soon enough.

The blond cop's head fell forward his chin touching his chest. Everything seemed to be an effort – breathing, thinking, all were too much for him to think about. Hutch's free will drained away like a wave drains through the grains of sand on the shore and he waited for what would come next.

'Tell me your name' the voice started again, and this time, there were no wisecracks and no sarcasm to meet the question. Hutch's mind latched onto the question and fought to answer it. Deep down, a tiny voice of reason told him it was wrong, but even the strongest man in the world would have been unable to fight the brutalisation and the drugs that Hutch had endured.

'Hutchinson' Hutch breathed softly. 'Ken Hutchinson.'

'Good. That's much better. And what do you do Ken Hutchinson?'

'M a cop.'

'And your partner's name?'

There was a minute pause whilst the tiny voice argued with Hutch's consciousness, but the drug he'd been given was way too powerful for the blond to fight and with a lick of his dry lips he answered obediently. 'David Starsky.'

'Is that him?'

With difficulty, Hutch raised his heavy head and squinted at the picture projected onto the wall. A warm flush of emotion flooded his being at seeing the welcome image of his partner. Even just seeing a photograph of the curly haired man made Hutch feel stronger and somehow protected and Hutch smiled gently. 'Ssstarsk' he muttered.

Sal looked up at the other two goons. 'See what a few chemicals can do? He'd shop his own Grandmother right now if we asked him to. It's almost too easy.' The bald headed man turned back to his captive and sighed.

'So now we can begin in earnest' he said. 'Tell me about David, Ken…… what are his weaknesses?'


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

For almost two weeks the pattern of Hutch's life remained the same. Each day, Enzo and Radio would come down to the safe in the basement, haul his aching battered body to its feet and pulling him out of the cell to bring him upstairs to the same room and the same chair. Thankfully, now that the initial phase of his brainwashing was over there were no more lights stabbing at his eyes or never ending tapes of drums to listen to, but the Cougars still ensured that the blond got little sleep, wearing down his defences in other ways instead.

An hour at a time seemed to be the way they wanted to play it. At the end of his crippling sessions with Sal in the room on the ground floor, during which time the bald man asked Hutch questions about himself, his past life, the jobs he'd done as a cop and his relationship with Starsky, they would haul him once more downstairs, where the blond would fall to the floor of his cell and allow the weariness caused by the truth serum to wash him away to oblivion. Each time he slept, however, he would just begin to relax when one or other of the gang members would come into the basement and wake him by rattling metal against the bars of his cage, or by coming into his cell and kicking him. They would order him to his feet and any recalcitrance was punished by a beating. Hutch never managed longer than an hour asleep in all the twelve days of his treatment. He was exhausted, past the point of his endurance, and his mind was so much garbage, unable to concentrate on anything for longer than a few seconds and thus more receptive to Sal's increasing suggestions.

The last session, yesterday had started in the same way with the heavies coming for him and dumping him once more in the large wooden chair. They no longer needed to restrain his arms and legs as Hutch had neither the strength nor the clarity of thought to escape. They did however, always fasten the wires around his chest, keeping him upright. It served two purposes. First, it focused the blond's wavering attention onto the wall in front of him where pictures of Starsky were shown to him and two, it stopped the exhausted cop from falling to the floor.

Unseen, Sal, as usual stood behind him while Radio administered the shot of serum. Hutch still flinched at the needle, but the screams had long since disappeared to be replaced by something like resignation. He was beginning to see why they were doing this and he was getting anxious to get a piece of the action.

'Who is that?' the voice behind the blond asked, indicating a picture on the wall.

Hutch tried to concentrate on the figure. 'Dave Starsky.'

'What does he mean to you?'

'He was my partner.'

'Was?' the voice asked forcefully.

'Uh huh.'

'Why do you say that?'

The blond licked his lips. He was thirsty. Thirsty all the time and had been for as long as he could remember. 'He double crossed me.'

'How did he do that?'

'He made out he was my friend.'

'But he wasn't?' Sal asked quietly

'No he…..he…..not my friend, no.'

'Tell me about the drugs Ken' the voice urged.

'No…..it…..hurts to think' Hutch struggled with the distorted memories forced into his head.

'It will stop hurting if you tell me.'

'I was hooked…..horse…..made me……forced it……shot me up' the sweating blond ground out.

'Who did? We talked about this yesterday didn't we? Who got you hooked Ken? Tell me his name.'

With a voice dripping contempt, Hutch looked at the picture of a laughing Starsky projected onto the wall. 'He did. Starsky did.'

'Is he your friend?' Sal pushed.

'Huh?.... thought he was……no……not my friend.'

'What else has he done?'

'Lots of stuff……wants to kill me…..wants to finish me.'

'And what would you do if you saw Dave Starsky again Ken? Describe to me what you'd do.'

'Kill him.' the words dripped so much venom that even Sal was taken aback.

'Good. That's good Ken. Well done, you deserve a rest now. Would you like that? Would you like to rest. Dave Starsky hasn't let you rest for so long has he? He told the others that they hadn't to let you sleep, but I'm gonna take care of that. I'm gonna make sure you get some sleep. How's that Ken? Huh?'

'Sleep? Yeah…..tired……Starsky didn't want me to sleep……'

'But I do, don't I Ken?' Sal asked him, running a calming hand through the grimy, sweat soaked hair.

Hutch looked up at the bald man and smiled. 'Yeah…..thanks' he murmured.

On the morning of the thirteenth day, as usual the two heavies approached Hutch's cage noisily and opened the gate. Hutch had had no more than three hours interrupted sleep that night, but it was more than he'd been allowed previously. Despite his rest however his mind refused to work on anything other than the most fundamental level. During his incarceration he'd been given sufficient food to keep him from starving and just enough water to keep fatal dehydration at bay. The blond's eyes had sunken into his head and his skin was pale, grimy and waxy. The sweat of the past two weeks still clung to him, his clothes the same he'd worn constantly during his incarceration. The wounds that had been inflicted by the two savage beatings at the beginning of his captivity had started to heal and his bruises were beginning to fade, or were overlaid by other, newer wounds from times when he'd failed to do as Enzo and Radio had asked.

What was more staggering though was that so far as Hutch could remember, it was always the gang members who had caused him pain or who had come to wake him from his sleep. Salvador Milano only ever showed up to apologise that he hadn't been around to stop the maltreatment and to offer the blond small kindnesses – a drink of cool water, a slice of meat or once, two aspiring, which the blond swallowed dry.

The flaxen haired cop started to look for Sal when he was brought into the room. He relied on the bald man to bring an end to his torture and to drive the other gang members away. He felt thankful that Sal was around and that he showed some interest in his welfare and his feelings of gratitude grew to the extent where he began to become infatuated with the man, feeling that he would do anything for Sal in order to pay him back for the kindnesses and protection he'd been shown.

This of course, was just how Milano had engineered things and now, towards the end of his planned conversion of the blond cop from undercover man to puppet in the grand scheme of Milano's business, the bald man decided to step up the heat and see just how well Hutch had adjusted to his new mindset.

As Hutch was dragged into the room, Sal was there in front of him. That was unusual. Usually the bald man was nowhere to be seen until the ritual with the drugs started. Hutch's heart gave a lurch of affection for the man and suddenly he felt a whole lot safer. Salvador Milano was his friend. He liked Hutch and he tried to look out for the blond cop and Hutch tried to force a smile onto his face.

Enzo pushed him into the chair, but this time there was no wire around his chest holding him back. This time he was free to let himself relax marginally and look about him. There was no sign of a needle, or syringe or indeed any vial of drug and as Enzo and Radio retreated from the room, Sal drew up the second chair and sat facing the cop.

'How are you feeling Ken?' Sal asked, his hand resting on the cop's knee in a friendly manner.

The question took Hutch by surprise. No one had asked after his welfare in so long that for a moment he didn't know what to say.

'Tired……wired' he finally mumbled.

'I can understand that. What Starsky has put you through is more than most men could survive.'

Hutch's head came up and his red rimmed eyes searched Milano's face. 'Starsky?'

'Yes, remember how he's treated you Ken. This is all his fault you know. He's known all along what they've been doing to you, but he hasn't raised a finger to stop it, has he?' Milano leaned forward conspiratorially. 'In fact I think he's been telling them how to hurt you. He knew you hated needles and drugs, didn't he? How else would they have known huh? Dave Starsky told them. And um….I wasn't going to tell you this but, you know your young Puerto Rican friend, what's his name?'

'Kiko'

'That's the boy. Lovely boy, Kiko. Starsky's been snooping around him too. One of my men thinks he may have um….. no, I don't want to say.'

Hutch sat more upright in his chair. 'Tell me' he said, his usually velvety voice husky and dry from his parched throat.

'Well Radio thinks he may have been um…..well Kiko looked injured. We think Starsky may have had some pleasure with him.'

'Bastard!' Hutch spat out. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands. It felt so good to finally be able to talk to someone who understood what he'd been going through. Sal understood. Sal had tried to protect him from everything. Fuck Starsky!

Milano watched his captive like a hawk watches a mouse on the ground. His prey was ready and he was soon going to let him loose. How tidy could he get? Use one cop to kill another and then finish Hutchinson. Sal and the Cougars would be home free.

'Ken, can I do something for you? I want to give you something special, to apologise for the way the man have treated you.'

'Don't need t'do that' Hutch mumbled. 'You done enough.'

'But I want to Ken. Consider it a present then. Would you accept my gift?'

'Yeah, sure' Hutch's affection for the man brimmed over. How good could Sal get? 'What is it?'

Milano grinned. He had Hutch hook, line and sinker. This was his final test. If the cop passed this, his plans would be fine. 'I can give you David Starsky. I can feed him to you and you get to bring him back here.'

The blond gasped. 'Starsky?' he snarled. 'Bring him here? Then what?'

Sal smiled back, pleased at the eager reaction. 'After that, he's yours to do whatever you like.'

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Starsky sat at the back of the Pits bar. Huggy was short handed and was busy behind the bar serving drinks, issuing instructions to his harassed waitresses and getting himself into a knot. The brunet had offered to help, but Huggy wouldn't hear of it. Starsky was at a loose end, just as he had been every day since Dobey had signed him off on paid leave. He spent most of his days watching the factory where he knew the Cougars had holed up. Each day that went by without seeing Hutch come out of the building made him jumpier and three times now he'd telephoned Dobey to tell him he was concerned something was going wrong. Each time, Dobey tried to quell Starsky's fears, telling him Hutch was due to give his usual report to the Feds soon, and each time, the curly haired cop put the phone down with a sigh.

At night, Starsky found himself going to the Pits more and more. With Hutch gone, Huggy was his next best friend and he enjoyed the lanky black man's easy chatter and wry sense of humour. Tonight, with Huggy busy, Starsky sat alone in a booth at the back of the room, his expression one that did not invite anyone to join him.

His fifth beer of the night was almost at an end, but even alcohol did nothing to ease his concern for his partner. Something was wrong he knew it and he was damned well going to be at the Metro tomorrow when the Feds gave Dobey their report from Hutch.

Pushing himself out from the booth, the brunet threaded his way through the throng of dancers beneath the din lights n the dancefloor. As he looked towards the bar, he stopped, his breath catching in his throat. Across the room a familiar blond figure pushed open the bar door and stood just inside the entrance looking around. Thoughts of more beer fled as Starsky started to push his way more forcefully through the crowd but as he got towards the door, Hutch seemed to catch sight of him and stepped outside again.

The curly haired cop pushed open the door to the back alley where his Torino was parked and rushed out.

'Hutch?' he hissed into the darkness.

'Starsk, over here buddy' the familiar voice sounded from the shadows behind the garbage cans.

Starsky looked up and down the alley. It was clear and quietly, he followed the sound of Hutch's voice into the gloom. He saw Hutch standing with his back to the wall and rushed over to him, his arms outstretched.

'Hutch! Thank God. I've been getting' jumpier than a Mexican bean. I didn't see ya, or hear from ya. Are you ok buddy?' The brunet took a final step forward, expecting Hutch to embrace him as usual.

The blow delivered full force to his jaw was not the kind of greeting that Starsky was looking forward to and with a grunt, he fell backwards onto the ground.


	9. Chapter 9

**A HAPPY NEW YEAR (AND LOTS OF HUGS) TO YOU ALL. MAY 2009 BE PEACEFUL, HEALTHY AND PROSPEROUS AND MAY IT BRING YOU EVERYTHING YOU WANT FROM LIFE.**

**Chapter 9**

Starsky sat on his butt in the dirt in the back alley, surprise and caution vying with each other for supremacy in his head. What the hell had just happened? Had Hutch finally gone stark staring crazy? The only thing the brunet could think of was that somehow Hutch had seen someone who could have blown his cover and had delivered the crippling right hook in an attempt to make it look as though he were fighting his partner off.

The blond was staring down at him and Starsky started to get to his feet. 'What the fuck?....Who've ya seen? D'ya have to make it look so realistic?' he asked, rubbing thoughtfully at his jaw and checking his teeth were all still in their sockets.

'I can do realistic.' Hutch said and took another swing as Starsky took a step closer and this time the brunet managed to duck out of the way.

'Hutch, what're ya playin' at? Do ya need me to look like I'm fightin' back or sumthin?'

'You can fight back if you want, or you can make it easier for me' the blond muttered coldly, throwing another right handed punch at Starsky. The brunet ducked again, but not quick enough and the blow caught him on the left temple, spinning him around and setting off fireworks in his head. Shit! Hutch wasn't holding back. What was going on?

The smaller man righted himself a little more slowly this time and glanced at Hutch out of the corner of his eye. His flaxen haired partner was standing impassively, hands at his sides as he waited for Starsky's next move. There was something predatory about Hutch's stance and a wild, almost demonic look in his eyes that the brunet had never seen before. Hutch's eyes stared at him, their usual clear crystal blue glowing almost evilly in the dim light of the alley. As Starsky stood up straight and rubbed hard at his head his fingers coming away slick with blood, Hutch stood back, silent and waiting. No checking on his buddy's welfare, no apology. Just cold indifference.

'Ok, I don't have any clue what this is all about, but there aint no-one around. What're ya playin' at? Ya nearly broke my head buddy' the curly haired cop muttered.

Hutch looked at him contemptuously, Sal's words ringing in his ears. _He shot you up. He got you hooked on horse. He didn't do anything to help you. He messed with Kiko. He isn't the friend you thought he was. What would you do if you saw him Ken?..... _

And Hutch's eager reply_. Kill him._

_Kill him._

_Kill him._

The words rang round and around in the blond's head. Instead of seeing his partner of six years, he saw a monster, ready to prey on young boys, ready to sell his best friend down the river for a few shots of Mexican Brown. The familiar, handsome face had turned ugly in his eyes, the deep indigo blue eyes now projecting anger and hate rather than friendship and protection.

'_You're my pal Hutch….. if we were cowboys, I'd give ya my boots…..'_ Hutch snickered to himself. Double crossing, two faced bastard. His only friend now was Salvador Milano. Sal had saved him from the rest of the Cougars. Sal had been kind to him and Sal had been the one to tell him the truth about David Starsky. The blond's mind, twisted by two weeks of conditioning, drugs, starvation and dehydration latched onto the bald man's small kindnesses, unable and unwilling to analyse clearly what had been going on. In the blond's head, Sal was his only buddy and he'd do anything to repay his kindness.

'You always were the dumb one. How many punches does it take to let you know this aint no make believe, huh?' Hutch brought his fist up ready again and Starsky took an involuntary step back, partly to step out of Hutch's reach, and partly in surprise at his friend's words and the venom with which they were delivered.

Starsky raised his hands defensively. 'What's happened? What've they done to ya? Hutch, listen to me. Whatever it is we can work it out buddy. Just let's take things nice and easy huh? Back off and let's talk.'

'That's all you ever do. Talk's cheap and you go on and on. Do you know how many times I've sat in that parade float and wished you'd shut the fuck up? Now I finally get the chance to close your mouth for good.' With that, Hutch lunged forward. He grabbed a hold of Starsky around his neck and his big, square hands started to squeeze.

For a moment Starsky was paralysed, unable to move, the cruelty of the words delivered by his partner taking their time to fully sink into his head. Something bad had happened to Hutch. Somehow the Cougars had done something to him, but whether the mole had anything to do with it or not, Starsky was unsure. Right now, he needed to fight back before Hutch carried out his wish to close his mouth for ever.

The brunet grabbed a hold of Hutch's wrists and started to try to prise them away from his neck. Hutch was strong though and his grip on the brunet's neck was tight and secure. Whilst Starsky didn't want to hurt Hutch any more than he felt he had to, the blond had no such concerns about his partner. Despite Starsky's strangled moan of "Huuuutch" the tall blond kept up a steady pressure.

Desperate to get some oxygen into his body now that red speckles were beginning to appear around the periphery of his vision, Starsky targeted the only part of Hutch that he knew would surely hurt.

A couple of months previously, while dealing with Arty Solkin, a bomb had been planted in the trunk of Hutch's car. It exploded as the blond inserted the key in the lock and badly burned his right hand, breaking a couple of fingers. Now, and hating himself for causing the pain, Starsky grabbed for those barely healed fingers and twisted them, pulling them backwards and scratching the new, tender skin on the back of Hutch's hand.

The blond let out a bellow of rage and pain and let go of Starsky's neck, clutching at his damaged hand. The smaller man tried to drive home his advantage and get around behind his buddy, but Hutch was too fast and drove his left fist into Starsky's stomach. Still trying to gasp air into his lungs from the near strangulation, the brunet sank to his knees on the ground, the air driven from his body by the blow. Immediately, Hutch was on his back, an arm locked around Starsky's throat, once again cutting off the airways.

This time there was no escape. This time, Starsky could feel the vicious hold sapping at his reserves of strength. Dimly, he tried to make one last connection with his partner. 'Ya…..gonna……kill me?' the brunet managed to gasp.

'Not yet, that pleasure is still to come' Hutch hissed as he tightened his grip and held on until the body in his grasp became limp.

Reluctantly, the blond let go and checked the pulse in the unconscious brunet's neck. It was there – a steady beat and for one moment, Hutch was transported back to an Italian Restaurant, the rain battering against the window of the back office and him holding Starsky's body upright, a red and white gingham table cloth tied tightly over a bleeding gunshot wound. For a split second, he had a memory of Starsky's curly head, to weak to look up at him, but the crooked smile playing over the handsome face.

_See ya….._

The only thing they ever said on parting. Not goodbye. Not ciao. See ya.

Standing stiffly, Hutch took a hold of the brunet under his arms and hauled him over to his car. He opened the trunk and lifted the limp body, dumping it into the back. Starsky's unconscious form rolled onto its side and on impulse, Hutch reached into the tight jeans pocket and took out the brunet's handcuffs. He pulled Starsky's arms back, snapping the metal bracelets tightly in place. He paused.

'I should'a let ya bleed to death that night' he muttered as he slammed down the trunk lid, got into the Jaguar and drove off back to the factory.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sal Milano watched the maroon coloured Jaguar drive through the large iron gates and make its way up the drive to the side of the factory. At this side, his contact, a useful mole from BCPD rolled a cigarette and looked on in interest.

'So you finally got him to do it, huh?' the contact asked.

'He took to it like a baby takes to milk. He was a little resistant at first but we added the pressure and he broke about four days ago. Since then, thanks to the information you provided, I've been feeding him shit about Starsky. Right now, the difficulty will be in stopping him from killing his partner too quick.'

'You managed to get in about the shooting in the restaurant and the stuff about the call girl Blondie was dating?'

Sal nodded. 'All good stuff. I fed him enough lies to turn a devout Catholic against the Pope if the need arose. Right now he's eating out of my hand.'

'What's his orders now?'

'I told him to collect Starsky and bring him back here. I said after that he could do what he wanted with his partner.'

'So your plan…..?' the contact asked.

'Well once you identified him as a cop and we confirmed he'd been seeing Starsky, I decided it was best if he kills his buddy and then we can get rid of him. That way, we wouldn't be implicated. It'd be just one more cop breaking under the pressure of being undercover.'

The man at Sal's side nodded. 'Neat. Very neat, just the way I like it. What are you going to do with the bodies?'

'We'll have them put back in the Jag and taken somewhere, after that, I guess it'll be down to you.'

The contact shrugged. 'I can get news to Dobey to say their bodies have been found. After that, Dobey will be locked in a war of words with the Feds. That should give things time to calm down for you before we start up again.'

Milano smiled. 'Sounds good. I'd hate our relationship to be prematurely cut short. It's far too lucrative. Do you want to go in? Ken should have got the body down to the basement by now. We should be just in time to watch the fun.'

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

David Starsky opened his eyes slowly. His head pounded, his stomach hurt and his left shoulder, the one damaged first by a bullet and later by having the muscles torn apart by Marcus' goons was once more making its presence felt.

The brunet groaned softly and as awareness returned realised that his hands were secured together and stretched high above his head. With a rising tide of panic, Starsky's imagination took him back eight weeks, to a bright cool morning, sunshine and a rusting aviary. Around him robed men were chanting.

Simon

Simon

Simon

With an anguished cry the curly haired cop pulled hard at the ropes securing his wrists to the bolt in the ceiling and screwed his eyes tight closed. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be happening. He was locked in a nightmare. Simon Marcus was in jail, his goons dispersed to the four winds. Gail had been found dead. This wasn't Marcus' doing…..it couldn't be.

Bracing himself, Starsky took a breath and opened his eyes again, looking straight into the cold, crystalline blues of his partner, the man who used to be his best friend, but who now seemed hell bent on killing him.

'Nightmares coming back, are they _buddy?' _Hutch asked coldly.

'Hutch….don't do this. Sumthin's happened. We can…..'

'Work things out, yeah, I know. You said that already. Right now, all I want is for you to shudup. I'm sick of your whining. "Oh Hutch, it hurts….it hurts. Oh Hutch there was a bear. Hutch my stomach hurts, my shoulder hurts". I get so sick of it. So here's what I'm gonna do, as one friend to another. I'm gonna be kind, and put you out of your misery.'

Hutch grinned coldly and reached up to the brunet's left shoulder. He grasped it and squeezed right over the old bullet wound and the newer, fresher injuries of weeks ago. Sweat beaded on Starsky's forehead, his face twisted in pain as he hissed through clenched teeth. The blond put his head close to Starsky's ear and almost lovingly he whispered. 'Does that hurt buddy?'

Starsky opened his eyes, a soft moan escaping him. 'You know it does' he mumbled.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Huggy Bear cleared away the last of the glasses from the tables around his dance floor. It had been one hell of a night and he muttered to himself under his breath. _C'mon Bear, don't be a skinflint no more. Ya got the customers, now ya need the staff, and no more fat ugly chicks. You need chicks with the mojo, man. Nice chicks with good assets and a willingness to show 'em off. Thinkin' about hot pants, tiny tops, acres of hot, steamin' flesh…… Jeez, where's the ice?_

The lanky black man shook himself out of his sexy daydreams and snickered to himself. Margarita had just gone home. She was willing, but she was also 5'1" tall and weighed close to 180 lbs. Not really the sort of chick the guys came in to ogle, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and at least she was a good worker. He grabbed the sack containing the detritus of the night and opened the door to the alley to dump the sack in the trash can. As he put the lid back on, however, he looked up and saw the shiny flashy Torino still parked up at his back door.

Huggy paused a moment. It seemed odd. Starsky had left earlier – from what he recollected, he'd left in a hurry, in fact he hadn't even said goodnight to him. The brunet hadn't had that much to drink that he wouldn't have been able to drive, so why was his pride and joy still here?

Checking that no one was around, the Bear walked round to the driver's side of the car and tried the handle. The door was locked and as he peered through the window, Huggy could just make out the tip of Starsky's gun peeping out from the tray he kept it in under the driver's seat when he wasn't on duty. Now that was odd. Neither Hutch nor Starsky went anywhere without their guns – there were too many flakes in Bay City with reasons for wasting them.

Huggy walked quickly back inside and reached for his phone. He dialed Starsky's number and waited. Even if the brunet was in the middle of hot sex with a beautiful girl, the bar tender wasn't concerned about interrupting – he just needed to know that his friend was ok. The ring tone sounded down the line. Four……five…..six rings. Huggy let it ring another ten times before he put the receiver down, his heart in his mouth. _OK, Ok, what now? Think Hug. He went out in a rush, he didn't stop to say goodnight and his car is still in your alley. What now? He was concerned about Hutch, does that have something to do with all this? Or is Curly boy just having a night at some beautiful broad's boudoir? Should he wait till morning? Or should he do something now? Damn!_

The lanky black man paced up and down behind his bar. What should he do? If he alerted Dobey and Starsky was just on a date, he'd be up the waterway without a means of propulsion. However, if he procrastinated and Starsky was actually in trouble, could he handle having that on his conscience?

On impulse, the tall man grabbed his phone, thumbed through his address book and dialed Dobey's number. He waited impatiently for the phone to be answered and almost put it down before a sleep thickened voice answered.

'This had better be good.'

'Oh, um, Cap'n Dobey, this is….'

'Huggy, what the hell? It's……four am.'

'I know Captain, and I know you need your beauty sleep….' Huggy winced at his own choice of words but carried on anyway '…..but um, well. Starsky was in here earlier. He left kinda quick and um….his car is still in the alley. I'm worried.'

There was a sigh down the line. 'He's wrapped up warm in some woman's arms. Tell me tomorrow.'

'NO!.... Um Cap'n no. I'm genuinely worried for him. He's been at the bar every night for almost two weeks. Same thing each night. He sits in the corner, has some beers, we talk after I've closed up and then he goes home. He's worried about his partner and now I'm worried about him.'

'So he got fed up of your conversation. Huggy, you're tired, its late. Go home to bed and call me tomorrow huh?' the phone went down and Huggy stared at the dead receiver.

'Fine' he muttered and set about switching off the lights and locking up.

Chez Dobey, however, the Captain was now fully awake. Edith snored gently by his side, but the big man's mind was working overtime. He'd had a few contacts with the curly haired cop over the last two weeks. Mostly it was Starsky ringing for progress reports or to urge the Captain to check up on Hutch, but despite the brunet's concern, Dobey was almost as much in the dark about Hutch as Starsky was. The Feds were playing their cards close to their chests and all they would say was they were waiting for Hutchinson's next appointed contact which was due tomorrow.

Dubiously, Dobey turned over on his side and threw an arm over his sleeping wife, trying to settle down again. Tomorrow's shift was only four hours away. What could possibly happen in four hours? When he got into the precinct, he'd contact Markham and Chun and tell them he wanted his man out of the job and back on his duty roster within the next couple of days. This had gone on too long and even a cop as experienced as Hutch at undercover work had their breaking point. With that plan in mind, the black man drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

'Hutch, what've they done to ya' Starsky mumbled. The pull of his body weight on his injured left shoulder sent spikes of pain running up his arm and down into his chest. If he kept still, it was just about bearable, but a new pain in his stomach was now taking over in the discomfort stakes. Simon Marcus' goons had fed him drug tainted water. When the doctors checked him out at the hospital, they'd been alarmed to see that the poison had a corrosive quality which ate away at stomach linings and that with the amount Starsky had ingested they suggested he stay in hospital to be monitored. Of course that was akin to asking him to drive red hot skewers into his eyes and so reluctantly, the doctors had give Starsky strong pain killers and also drugs to help repair the damage to his stomach.

Despite taking the meds regularly though, if he missed a dose, the pains started again and soon became excruciating in their intensity to the point where he began once again to pass blood. Now, five hours after he should have taken his last dose, the pains were beginning to roil around his guts and all he really wanted to do was to draw his knees up to his chest, curl into a ball and rock.

'They've shown me the error of my ways. I thought you were a friend. We rode together for six years and all that time, I thought you had my back. How wrong can a guy get huh?' Hutch said, pacing the small room. This was more difficult than he'd imagined. In Hutch's dreams, he'd longed to get the brunet like this and tell him exactly what he thought about him before killing him for the mess he'd made of Hutch's life. But now, the reality was more difficult. Starsky kept looking at him with those intense puppy dog eyes. There was no animosity in them, just a sad expression. The brunet wasn't ranting and raving. He wasn't behaving as Hutch had expected. He was trying to talk to the blond and Hutch found it confusing. He wanted to yell at Starsky to fight back so that he could enjoy the experience of taking the curly haired man down, but Starsky wasn't playing fair. He wasn't playing by Hutch's rules and the blond was getting steadily more confused.

Starsky tried again. 'They've done sumthin to ya babe. Hutch, it's me, Starsky. We're partners. We're friends…..more than friends. We've always watched each others backs. I called you Blintz, you called me Gordo. Hutch, c'mon…..try to…..'

The flaxen haired cop let out a yell and grabbed a hold of a handful of chocolate coloured curls, his face inches from Starsky's. But instead of seeing fear or anger in those indigo blue eyes, he saw only compassion and friendship. Hutch felt even more off balance under the intensity of the gaze. This wasn't right. Starsky was messing with his head again. In desperation, Hutch took off his tee shirt, ripped a strip of material from it and tied it tightly over the accusing eyes before standing back, panting with exertion and anger.

In the few seconds between Hutch stripping off his top and the blindfold being tied into place, Starsky had a quick view of his partner's torso. Deep blue bruises marred the tanned, hard chest and stomach, cuts and what looked suspiciously like burns overlying some of the older bruises. He was about to comment when he was plunged into darkness and suddenly his heart was in his throat.

'Hutch……buddy, don't do this huh? We can work this out. They've messed with your head…..Hutch……HUTCH!' Starsky's blinded head quested left and right, listening for his partner, panic rising now like a cold tide. One thing he hated more than the pain was darkness. He'd had too much of that in the past weeks. Marcus' men had left him in the dark a lot. The dark usually led to more pain as they beat him, or burned him, or whipped him or made him drink the poisoned water. Darkness was his enemy, sapping at his will and his confidence……and Hutch knew how scared he was and how unsure he was and what Marcus had done to him. Unbelievably, his partner…..his best friend….. was using his own knowledge to intimidate him further. Starsky tried again.

'Hutch…..you there? Hutch?'

Quietly, the blond cop watched the hanging body of his former friend, satisfaction finally dawning as he saw the slight tremble of overstretched limbs and the barely noticeable quake in the otherwise quiet voice. He knew what darkness did to Starsky. He knew what Marcus' men had done to his friend and how Starsky still had nightmares about the dark and the pain. This was satisfaction indeed. Without another word, and with quiet footsteps, Hutch left Starsky hanging while he made his way upstairs, closing the basement door behind him after switching off the lights.

The blond made his way out into the foyer of the factory looking for his friend Sal. He felt sure the bald man would be pleased that Hutch had done exactly s he'd been asked. After all, it as the least he could do to repay Sal's kindness to him. He listened for a moment and heard voices coming from an office off to the left of the big entrance hall, the door partly open. Inside Sal was talking to another man.

'When will I get the next shipment?' Sal was saying.

The unseen man answered. 'I have to lay low for a while. The IA are meant to be investigating the disappearance of the weapons. It wouldn't do for one of its own to be under suspicion.'

'I can see that. But don't leave it too long. I have buyers waiting and if I don't deliver, they'll go elsewhere' Sal responded.

Hutch walked up to the door and knocked on it, waiting dutifully outside, he heard Sal mutter something under his breath and then the bald man came to the door, stepped outside the room and closed the door behind him.

'I got him. He's downstairs' Hutch said quietly.

Milano smiled and patted Hutch's shoulder. 'Good man. I knew I could rely on you. Is he secure?'

Hutch grinned. 'Oh yeah. He's not goin' anywhere. What do you want me to do with him now?'

Sal looked at the expression on the flaxen haired man's face. It was like a puppy dog waiting for its master to throw the stick and it sickened him. This cop might have taken extra time to break, but jeez, the result was so completely submissive!

'Have some fun if you like. You deserved it and then get rid of him.'

Hutch nodded. 'Sure thing. When do you want it finished?' A tiny part of Hutch wished Sal had told him not to kill Starsky, but he knew he should do what Milano told him, and after all, Starsky was one evil S.O.B. – he deserved whatever he got.

'You have a few hours. Where will you dispose of him?' Sal asked quietly.

'The ocean. He hates the water anyhow. I'll take him down to the cliff tops at Lookout Point, the current's strong round there. If he ever does get washed up, he'll be half way to Chile.'

'Sounds like a plan. You did good Ken. Now go and finish your fun and afterwards, report back huh?'

Sal walked back into the room and closed the door behind him. The contact stepped out from the shadows. 'Shit that was close. Did he hear anything? You're getting sloppy Milano.'

The head of the Cougars smiled confidently. 'He's tight. Trust me, after he's finished with his partner, he's next anyhow.'

Hutch went to get a cup of coffee. He sipped the scalding black brew slowly, savoring the flavor and thinking about Starsky downstairs in the basement. He hated the dark, but something made Hutch want to go back down there, to see just how he was dealing with it. It might be amusing after all. The blond wished his cup unhurriedly, dried it and put it away before making his way back down to the basement.

Starsky had been trying to deal with his predicament. Hutch had once tried to teach him abut yoga and breathing techniques and he was trying anything now that might stop him from hyperventilating. The pains in his stomach now hit him full force, overshadowing the incredible ache in his shoulder, but it was the darkness that was the crippler and the brunet longed to have his sight back.

Suddenly the pitch black of the basement was illuminated again and Starsky saw the brighter light through his blindfold. He hitched a breath as he heard footsteps coming down the cellar steps and he cleared his throat.

'Hutch, is that you?' he said huskily.

'Would it be anyone else?'

'Cut me down huh? It hurts, ya know it hurts. We can talk about this. We can call Dobey' the brunet tried to reason with his partner.

'Now why would I want to do that? The whole of the BCPD are dirty, why would I trust any of 'em?'

'Huh?' Starsky tried to make sense of what he'd heard. 'Dirty? Who's dirty? What're ya talkin' about?'

Hutch snorted. You're a dirty cop and so are all the rest, everyone, including the IA.'

The hanging man tried to get his brain to follow the conversation. 'I have no idea what Milano has told ya. How do you know they're dirty? I don't understand. The IA? You don't know what you're sayin'. We both hate the IA but….'

Hutch walked right up to Starsky and ripped off the blindfold, staring into his eyes coldly. 'Even the IA. Don't fuck with me. You know they're dirty. Who do you think the mole is?'

Starsky tried to lock eyes with Hutch, trying desperately to reestablish the connection they used to have. 'Hutch, I hurt buddy. Let me down huh? Make this stop.'

The blond grinned. 'Oh I'll make it stop. I have just the thing to make the hurt go away.' With a grin, he held up a syringe loaded with a dark brown liquid.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Starsky eyed the needle with growing alarm. This had gone from weird and painful to being dangerous. He'd thought so far that their closeness; their bond would somehow have allowed him to get through to Hutch, whatever the Cougars had done to his partner, but now, with the hypo glinting dully in the light from the single bare bulb, Starsky's confidence fled.

'What the fuck? Hutch…..buddy……what's that? What the hell are ya doin'?'

'You know what this is. You've seen horse before' Hutch replied calmly, Ben Forest's face floating into his memory to morph from middle aged greasy flake to handsome chocolate curled cop and back again.

'Sure I have. So have you. We're cops. We've dealt with the Narcs boys before.'

'Uh huh. But you're more familiar with it aren't ya _buddy?_ You've seen the effects first hand.'

Starsky swallowed, his own memories of Hutch slamming his fist into the door by the side of his head in Huggy's spare room only too clear in his own head. He'd been with Hutch for the whole of the 48 stinking hours it had taken the blond to come down from the highs forced onto him. He'd watched as Hutch had sweated, twitched, vomited and moaned through the cold turkey phase of his drying out and he'd lived each pain with him.

'Course I have, but with what you went through, do you really want to do that to me? Do ya? Huh?'

The tall blond snickered. 'Retribution. I believe that's what it's called. You got me hooked, now it's my turn to watch you shiver and shimmy on the end of your rope.'

'Me?' Starsky's eyes flew wide open. What had they planted in that blond brain? What evil had Sal forced on Hutch? Only the blond's closest friends knew about Forest's treatment, it wasn't even on Hutch's medical records.

'Yeah, you. How many times did ya shoot me up, huh? Six, seven? I just wanted to let you know what you were missin'. The needle came closer and now Starsky started to struggle in earnest. He pulled hard at the ropes around his wrists, his hands turning purple with the pressure. The brunet tried backing up, but there was insufficient slack in the rope to allow him to move far and all the time, Hutch pressed home his advantage.

The first bite of the needle was the worst for Starsky. Hutch had longed for this moment. One moment of retribution to juice up the brunet and give him a taste of his own medicine metaphorically and literally. He'd longed for the wailing, the screaming, maybe even a little pleading, and he'd longed to watch the lithe body twitch as it came down from the initial rush, but once again, Starsky foiled his plan.

As he pushed the metal tube home and started to press the plunger on the syringe, he looked up at the bound man, his partner of six years expecting fear or anger in the deep blue eyes. Instead however, he saw only compassion and sadness.

'Utc….shhh, nooooo' Starsky almost sighed as the heroin started to run through his blood stream. 'Noooo…..buddy.'

'Damn you Starsky' Hutch yelled angrily and threw the empty syringe down onto the ground, stamping on it so that the barrel smashed into a million pieces. 'Fuck you, _partner._ Just leave me alone, huh?'

Starsky's head lolled forward, his chin touching his chest between his bound and upstretched arms. He was out for the count. Hutch took out his pocket knife, held the brunet around the waist with one hand and cut the rope with the other. Gently he allowed Starsky's body to fall to the ground where he let it lay, boneless and limp as Hutch walked over to the hard wooden chair in the corner of the basement to watch and wait.

It hadn't been the good feeling he'd expected. Injecting the heroin into the smaller man's arm hadn't been pleasurable and it hadn't made him feel vindicated. Instead, he felt hollow and somehow dirty and as Starsky slept his drug befuddled sleep, Hutch tried to reason with himself why he should feel that way.

Sal had told him that Starsky had got him hooked on the horse. Ben Forest's name floated through his head, but in Hutch's mind, Starsky was in cahoots with Forest. The brunet hadn't come to find him, he hadn't been there through those 48 hellish hours when Forest's men had juiced him, bound and blindfolded. Starsky hadn't been there while the goons had shone the lights in his eyes and slapped him around, forcing him to tell them where his girlfriend was. The brunet might not have actually pushed home the needle, but he'd never lifted a finger to rescue Hutch.

'_I got ya buddy….I got ya……You never saw this Bernie…..I'll handle it…..C'mon ya big lug……Hutch, drink the coffee…..c'mon buddy, keep it down…..'_

The words echoed through Hutch's head and he shook it. It was all a pretence, a mockery of a friendship he thought he'd had, but all the time, Starsky had been plotting against him and it had taken Sal to show him the truth. This should feel good. This should feel like vindication for all the misery Starsky had put him through and yet seeing the body on the floor didn't give Hutch the rush he'd anticipated. Instead as he watched the brunet moan and twitch, he felt nothing of the high he'd longed for.

Hutch remained in the same spot for over two hours, thinking, watching. The same words echoed around and around in his head. Starsky wasn't a friend, he was an enemy. He needed to get rid of the brunet right now. This was his chance. This was what he'd been waiting for. The blond sat on the chair, hardly seeing his partner's body on the floor, until his back was stiff with tension and his head ached. Starsky started to come down from the rush just after the two and a half hour mark and as the heroin started to wear off, the pains in his stomach returned. He groaned softly and pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to ease the discomfort and Hutch turned away, putting his hands over his ears to close out the sound. This wasn't how it was meant to be! This wasn't how it was meant to feel. Sal had told him he could do what he wanted and have fun, but this wasn't fun. Bloody Dave Starsky! Fuck him, he spoiled everything.

The drugged man opened his eyes slowly. Starsky had done coke in his younger days and had smoked reefers like most of the guys he served with in the Army. It was one of their ways of relaxing, but heroin was a new experience for him and he felt shaky and tired and sick to his stomach. He rolled over onto his back, his mind refusing to let him remember where he was for a few seconds, and then he saw Hutch, sitting motionless in the corner and the memories returned.

'Utch? Buddy?' the brunet rasped from a parched throat. There was no reply and no movement and he tried again. 'Hutch…..help me, please. My stomach…..I need my meds……hurts. Hutch?......'

The blond cop suddenly leaped from the chair with a roar. Starsky was doing it again. He was meddling with the blond's mind, trying that "little boy lost" act to try to win him over. Well this time it wouldn't work. This time, Sal had wised him up to it. Hutch lunged forward, dropping to his knees on the floor as Starsky's eyes flew wide and he started to back up from the wild looking man.

'Hutch…' Starsky tried again.

'SHUT UP' Hutch yelled, grabbing the brunet by his belt and pulling him back. 'Where d'ya think you're goin'?' He pulled Starsky back towards him and the brunet let himself go limp, refusing to struggle or fight back.

'Don't do this Blintz' the curly haired man whispered, 'Don't do sumthin you'll regret.'

Hutch snatched his pocket knife from his back pocket and flicked open the wicked looking four inch blade. He pushed it against the hollow of Starsky's throat with a growl. 'I told ya to shut up, but you always have to have the last word. Shut it, or I'll shut it for ya.' The point of the blade penetrated the skin and a thin trickle of blood wound its way down through the curly brown hairs of the tanned chest.

Starsky looked up into Hutch's wild blue eyes. In them he saw fear, anger, confusion and something else that left him cold – hate. 'Is this what ya want?' he asked very quietly. The blade pressed marginally harder at the base of his throat and Starsky swallowed hard. There was almost nothing of Hutch that he recognised. The hard, cold eyes that stared down at him were not those of his friend. Hutch had been closer to him than a brother and yet, whatever Salvador Milano had done, it seemed so complete that not even their extraordinary bond could not break through. With resignation, the brunet realised that this could very well be the end.

Two thoughts ran through his mind. He was glad that if he had to die now, it would be at Hutch's hands, and then that he would never be able to arrest Milano for the devastating damage done to his partner. Locking eyes with Hutch one last time, he smiled sadly.

'See ya partner' he said softly and closed his eyes expecting at any moment to feel the blade slice into his neck.

Above him, Hutch wanted to close out those deep indigo blue eyes for good. He was sick of Starsky and angry at him for not fighting back and giving him the satisfaction of beating him. Now all he wanted to do was end this and go back to Sal, his friend. Hutch too closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the handle of the knife, preparing for the coup de grace, but even as he prepared to make the final deathly cut, the door to the basement opened and Sal appeared at the top of the steps.

The bald man saw his blond experiment straddled across the supine body of the curly haired cop and yelled quickly. 'Ken, no! Not here. We agreed no mess. If you're gonna finish him, take it outside huh? Remember the plan? Ken?'

The blond froze at the voice of his friend and with a yell of anger, Hutch got up from the floor and threw the knife down. The adrenaline that had flowed through his body now left him feeling shaky and weak and he staggered away from Starsky, who let out the breath he'd been holding and let his head fall back onto the floor, his own body feeling weak and sick. The blond turned soundlessly and grabbed a hold of Starsky's arm dragging him to his feet, pushing him forwards wordlessly, in front of him. Sal threw the keys of the Jag to him, and Hutch nodded, accepting too the gun that the bald man handed him.

The blond shouldered past Milano, pushing his partner in front of him and up the steps to the door of the factory. The Jaguar was still parked at the side of the big building where Hutch had left it and now the blond propelled his partner towards it.

'What did he mean the plan?' Starsky asked quietly. 'You got this all laid out huh?'

'It's something I looked forward to' Hutch replied coldly.

'You and Milano? He's done sumthin to your head buddy. Try to remember Hutch. Try….we're partners…..we're friends.'

'We were, or at least I…..just shudup. I can't think with your constant whining. Shudup' the blond muttered desperately. Starsky's voice was beginning to annoy him, nagging at his nerves and shaking his resolve. On impulse, he opened the trunk of the car and nodded to the brunet. Starsky raised his eyebrows.

'In there?'

'The only way I can shut you up. Get in.' Hutch wagged the loaded gun in the direction of the boot, showing that he meant what he said.

Reluctantly, the smaller man got into the trunk of the car, his arms wrapped around his stomach as the pains returned. He was about to try one last time to get through to his partner when Hutch closed the lid of the trunk forcefully and plunged the brunet into confined darkness.

Hutch got into the car and drove quickly trying hard not to think of the brunet. Thinking confused him. Thinking clouded his judgment, but driving helped and in no time he was on the coast road traveling south. The road twisted and turned around the cliffs to the south of the city and pretty soon Hutch reached Lookout Point, a craggy area of cliffs where the breakers of the Pacific crashed relentlessly against the chalky cliffs. He drew the car to a halt, switched off the engine and got out. The blond man spent a moment looking out to sea, the cool ocean breeze ruffling his flaxen bangs and stilling his overworked mind. He could do this. This was what he'd wanted all along.

Squaring his shoulders, Hutch marched around to the rear of the car and opened the trunk, watching as Starsky blinked owlishly at the bright sunlight.

'Out' Hutch commanded and stood back, gun poised as the brunet got stiffly out of the confined space. Starsky said nothing, but put his hands up and stood by the side of the car, staring fixedly at his partner.

'What're ya looking at?' Hutch asked uncomfortably.

'My friend' Starsky replied softly.

'Oh please!'

'We are friends Hutch. At least I'm still yours and I know I can help ya.'

'I don't need no help. I'm fine. Leastways I will be when you aren't the thorn in my side any more.'

'So what? Ya gonna shoot me now? After all we've been through?' Starsky took a step closer, his eyes never wavering from Hutch's.

'You bet. And then I'm gonna get back in the car and start a new life.'

'Nice set of wheels. Not your usual sort. Remember the beaters ya had?' the brunet mused, taking another step. The gun aimed at his chest wavered for a moment and then aimed again.

'Shudup.'

'You keep sayin' that, but do a mean it buddy? Do you really want to shut me up for good?' Another step and now Starsky was in striking distance of his friend. Hutch's eyes veered away from the intense indigo blues.

'I know what I need to do.'

'Need, maybe. But do ya want to?' Starsky asked quietly, watching his partner's face intently.

Again the crystal blue eyes slid away from the intense gaze and Starsky took his cue, striking like a rattler. He lunged at Hutch's gun hand and grasped it two handed, forcing it upwards. Hutch yelled out and started to struggle, the two men's bodies up close and personal. They froze, two dancers in a tango of life and death as the gun between them wavered, aiming first one way and then they next. Starsky's wrists felt as though they would brake, Hutch was so strong and yet desperation leant the brunet strength and determination, along with the fact that he knew he was fighting for his life.

For long seconds, the two men struggled trying to gain the upper hand and then, the gun wedged somewhere between them, there was a load report, the gun flared in their hands, and both men dropped like stones to the ground.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Salvador Milano sat in his office checking the chits for the weapons he'd supplied this month. The 2 M73A1s had gone to a small time robber from the east side of the city and a shipment of a dozen Brownings had gone to Cuba to be used against the USA for whatever reasons the group there saw fit. To Sal it mattered not how the weapons were used, all he cared about was the dollars coming in and the retirement fund he was developing. He pushed the bills into a small lockable cash tin, got up and pulled back the heavy oil painting on the wall to reveal the hidden safe. He turned the dial, hearing the satisfying heavy "thunk" as the tumblers fell into position and finally opened the small, heavy door. Putting the cash tin inside, he closed the door, spun the dial and was just repositioning the oil painting when his contact burst into the room.

Sal spun around, an angry look on his face. 'Has knocking gone out of fashion in the IA? Or are you just wanting to make me angry?' he snapped.

The middle height, dark haired man ignored the comment and stalked towards the heavy desk. In his years on the force, Eric Simonetti had come to despise all things cop, which made his job in the IA, the police's police all the more ironic and at the same time, his perfect cover. Never particularly good at police work, Simonetti had been mediocre at best at the Academy, scraping through his exams to spend the next five years of his life as a flat foot, pounding the streets of Beverly, the easiest and least crime laden area of Bay City. Even that proved too difficult for the restless young cop and finally an opening occurred in Internal Affairs. To Simonetti, it was the answer to his prayers. Now he could watch all the cops who had tried to bring him down over the years. All those who had snickered behind their hands at him, or had openly told him he was no good and should think about a different career were now his targets and he came into his own, investigating each complaint zealously and earning himself a reputation for being hard nosed and callous.

Along with the new job came a new outlook on life. His Dad had always told him "son, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" and so with those words ringing in his ears, Eric Simonetti sought out Salvador Milano, head of the Cougars, arguably the most powerful gang to hit the West coast in years. And what did he have to offer the bald boss? Weapons. Weapons confiscated from the low lives that'd used them to rob, maim and kill. The weapons had been destined to be turned into scrap and only those with sufficient security clearance were allowed near them. That security clearance included the IA and so Simonetti got himself a new and lucrative sideline, taking the weapons from the police lock up and selling them to the highest bidder – one Salvador Milano.

Simonetti stood, hands on hips in front of the desk, glaring at Sal. 'When did Hutchinson leave? What time?'

Milano looked blank. 'I dunno. Couple of hours ago maybe. Why?'

'Because, wise guy, you let him take Starsky all on his own. That has got to be the dumbest move I've ever seen.'

Sal's face registered anger. 'You're either brave or stupid Simonetti. There aren't many men would dare come into my office and bad mouth me. Now I'm willing to ignore it this once, but….'

'Aren't you in the least bit curious why Hutchinson hasn't come back?' Simonetti interrupted.

'He'll be back. I told him to have fun. He's probably following instructions.'

Simonetti sighed heavily. 'He's probably somewhere with Starsky, holed up. You don't know them like I do. Jeez, for the past six years I've watched their every move. I've tried to trip them up, I've tried to bring them down, but they lead charmed lives. They're closer than Siamese twins and my guess is Starsky and Hutchinson are now heading back to headquarters to tell Dobey that the IA are involved in the missing weapons.'

Milano shook his head. 'I worked on Ken for two weeks. No one can withstand that sort of treatment and then break the conditioning overnight. Even if Starsky has somehow managed to escape, he couldn't break Hutchinson's resolve. He hates his former partner. I'm convinced he'd kill him. Don't sweat it. We're safe.'

The IA man snorted. 'I wish I shared your conviction, but you don't know them like I do. We need to put a stop to this now.'

'You want me to send someone after them?'

Simonetti shook his head. 'You'd never find them. The first thing Starsky will do is call his captain. So far, the only people who might be able to implicate the IA are him and Hutch and their Captain is the only one they'll trust. If you're right, and Hutchinson's programming is so complete, we need only worry about one man. Kill Dobey and Starsky will have no one to turn to.'

'Won't he try someone else?' Sal asked dubiously.

'Starsky may look stupid, but he's not. If he sees Dobey has been taken out, he's not gonna trust anyone else. Believe me, cut off his line of communication and you've silenced him for good. So long as you did your stuff with Hutchinson.'

Milano grinned. 'Believe me. After what he went through, he'd kill his own brother.'

'That's exactly what he's gonna have to do. Starsky and him are that close. Can you handle the Captain?'

The bald man nodded. 'Leave it to me. Radio and Enzo have been getting real bored and twitchy. They'll be pleased to have something to do.'

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The sound of the single shot died away on the morning air. The seagulls, frightened by the sudden loud noise had departed suddenly in a mass of flapping wings and sullen plaintiff cries and now, all that was left was the crashing of the waves a hundred feet below the cliff top and the wind setting up a gentle susurration through the grass.

For long moments, both men lay still, neither body moving as the shock of the sound and the smell of the cordite hit home but then, coming back to his senses, Starsky shook his head, looked around him as though seeing the cliff top for the first time, and got shakily to his knees.

The fight with his blond partner had been fast and furious. Hutch, usually the stronger of the two detectives, was slower this time, sluggish almost and the brunet remembered the bruises and cuts he'd seen fleetingly back in the basement before Hutch had blindfolded him. Thanking his lucky stars for the first time ever that Hutch had been hurt and weaker than him, Starsky looked down at the unconscious blond.

He'd grappled with the flaxen haired cop. Hutch had fought like a madman. Starsky had gone down, hit by a blow to the jaw and as he lay on the floor. Hutch had kicked out at his left knee sending shockwaves of pain up into his thigh. Starsky had screamed out in pain and Hutch had pulled him back to his feet where the brunet stood unbalanced as the blond prepared to hit him again. Once more, Starsky had taken a hold of the gun, his hand covering Hutch's as the weapon wavered between them. Finally, with a huge effort, Starsky thought that he'd managed to get the muzzle away from the two of them. In a last desperate surge of strength, Hutch had yelled, turned the gun back and had pulled the trigger sending the two of them to the ground.

Blood trickled from a wound on Hutch's forehead and his skin was deathly pale. With a sudden rush of fear, Starsky knelt down by the side of his buddy, ignoring the knife-like pain in his swollen left knee. My God! What had he done? He placed his hand on Hutch's cheek gently, running his thumb along the line of the blond's jaw.

'Hutch? Hutch buddy…..please? Wake up huh? Hutch?' the brunet pleaded. On impulse, he checked the pulse in Hutch's neck, relieved to feel it strong and sure beneath his trembling fingers. The shot must have been a glancing blow but it had been too close for comfort. With the knife incident in the basement, and then this fight on the cliff top, Starsky was left in no doubt that whatever damage had been done to Hutch over the past two weeks, it was devastating in its thoroughness. Hutch had meant to kill him. Hutch, his partner, his friend and his brother had had blood lust in his eyes.

Getting shakily to his feet, the brunet cop looked around him. The maroon Jaguar was parked a little way off, its trunk and drivers door still open. Deciding it would be best to move his buddy now, while he was out for the count and would be easier to deal with, Starsky grabbed Hutch's limp form under the arms and half carried, half dragged him over to the car. For a moment, he thought about using the blond's trick and putting Hutch in the trunk, but couldn't bring himself to be so callous. Instead, he bundled the inert body into the back seat, cushioned Hutch's head on his rolled up jacket and got in behind the wheel.

Ok, part one accomplished, now what? Starsky thought quickly as he put the car in gear and drove off. His or Hutch's apartments would be the first place anyone would look for them, so they were definitely out. Fleetingly, the brunet thought about the room above the Pits bar, but again, he didn't want to implicate Huggy. The Cougars, and in particular Sal Milano were too dangerous to have Huggy's life on the line. With his options narrowed to virtually zero, Starsky drove south, away from the city, turned off the main coast road and headed down a small country track into the back of beyond. He drove quickly, but not so fast that he would draw attention to himself, but the road he'd chosen seemed to run on for ever, twisting and turning as it started to climb higher into the foothills of the mountain ridge backing the city. Eventually, after perhaps 20 minutes driving, Starsky saw in the distance a small one-horse type town and as he drew closer a welcome sign proclaimed "Newville. Population 231". There were a few houses dotted along the road and half way along the small town centre, there was a sign leading up another track to "Newville Motel – Hot water and color TV in every room".

Turning up the side street, Starsky drove the Jag up the track and pulled up outside the neat wooden building. The main house stood right on the roadside and the brunet could see separate wooden huts arranged in a line behind. Each looked small, neat and well kept, like a row of dolls houses. There were no cars parked and hardly any signs of life. Off the tourist trail and hidden in the hills, it seemed the perfect spot for Starsky and his partner to hole up.

Within 10 minutes, Starsky had paid for a week's rent, got the key to the very furthest cabin and had pulled up at the back, keeping the Jag out of sight from the road. The shiny maroon vehicle looked incongruous and out of place amongst the four by fours, trucks and farm vehicles in the small town, but Starsky had a plan for the car too.

Looking around to ensure he wasn't observed, the curly haired man opened the door to the one bedroomed cabin, dropped the keys on the table and went back to get Hutch from the car. The blond hadn't moved at all during the half hour it had taken to get from the cliff top to Newville. The blood on his forehead had ceased to flow and had crusted into a rusty, dark trail down the side of his face. He still looked pale, but his breathing was deep and regular and when Starsky lifted the blond's eyelids to check (as they'd been taught) the pupils in the crystal blue eyes were equal and reacted well to the light. His first aid training told him the wound may cause concussion, but he didn't think Hutch needed a hospital - which was just as well, as that would be another lace Milano would have watched.

Starsky once again half dragged and half carried his partner into the cabin and through to the bedroom. He laid the blond down on the bed and arranged the pillow under his head, pausing to smooth away the flaxen bangs from the blood crusting the forehead.

'We're gonna make this right buddy. We're gonna deal with this' Starsky murmured softly. 'But first I've got a few things I need to do and I don't want you goin' anywhere or doin' anythin' stupid so um…..' the brunet grimaced as he reached for his own cuffs that were in Hutch's back pocket. Fortunately, the key was still dangling in the small lock and Starsky took it out and put it in his jeans pocket before snapping one of the bracelets onto Hutch's right wrist.

'I'm sorry Blintz. If there was any other way….. I'll make it up to ya, ok? Promise.' With that, Starsky looped the other cuff through the metal headboard of the bedstead, pulled Hutch's other arm up above his head and secured it too with the second bracelet. Sure that the blond wouldn't be able to harm himself or Starsky if he woke up, the brunet walked into the small living room, picked up the phone and dialed.

The phone picked up on the fifth ring and a sleep thickened voice answered. 'If this aint life or death, I'm gonna hang up.'

'Huggy, it's me Starsky.'

'Starsky! What the hell? Your wheels are still blockin' my alley man.'

'Hug, I've got Hutch. I don't want to tell you where but I need you to do sumthin for us.'

'You need to ask?'

'Can you swing by my place. There's a bottle of green pills on my bedside table. I need 'em and also a couple've changes of clothes for me and sumthin for Hutch. If you can, can you stop by a pharmacy and get me gauze, tape, antiseptic and cotton wool. Can you get 'em to me? I can meet ya in….' Starsky looked at his watch '…..two hours at the toll plaza south of the city.'

'Pills, clothes, pharmacy and meet you in two hours. Gotcha.'

'And Hug…..be careful huh?'

Starsky heard a snort down the phone. 'I've had enough warnings to know that sometimes it's unhealthy to be friends with Starsky and Hutch. Don't sweat it, I'll be there.'

Starsky put the phone down slowly and returned to the bedroom. He pulled up a small easy chair and sat down by the side of the bed, but however he tried, he couldn't get comfortable. The pains in his stomach returned full force and he doubled over on the chair, holding his hands around his middle. He'd gone at least 12 hours without his meds and now his guts were protesting.

Without looking up, the brunet sensed a movement on the bed. Hutch's eyes opened slowly although he was only semi conscious. He turned his aching head on the pillow and heard the low groan from his side.

'Get yourself a 7up, it'll take the pain away' the blond's voice was quiet and had a far away quality.

Starsky looked up, stunned. It was the first kind thing Hutch had said to him and the brunet felt the warmth of their friendship as though for the first time. He stood and bent over the bed, but once again, Hutch was asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Dear all. This chapter was written long before the terrible news of Bernie Hamilton's death hit. I'd like to use it as a tribute to "our" Captain. (Oh......and I wouldn't normally say this, but under the circumstances......he doesn't die!)**

**Chapter 13**

'Don't be late tonight dear, it's your Buffalos meeting and then we need to discuss Cal's college options.' Edith Dobey kissed her husband on the cheek, handed him a small bag containing his latest diet lunch – an apple and two crispbreads – and watched as he walked out to his car. The portly black man smiled at his wife of 20 years, got into his car and tossed the dreaded diet bag onto the back seat. He loved his wife dearly. They had two wonderful, smart kids, Cal and Rosey, a nice family home in a good neighbourhood and a lifestyle Dobey's father would have been proud of. In all the years he'd been married, though, the one thing that bugged him more than anything was Edith's fascination with his waistline. When he'd first met her, as a svelte 20 something, he'd had a body any man would have been proud of. His time as a uniformed officer was covered in distinction and in record time, he was made Detective third class. Over the ensuing years, he and Elmo were the Starsky and Hutch of their day. They had an enviable arrest record, a reputation for solving "unsolvable" crimes and a chain of snitches that spread from one end of the city to the other.

During that time, Dobey kept himself fit, not only for his own sake, but so that he could keep Elmo safe too. Their relationship was based on trust and each man knew the other would watch their backs in a crisis. When Elmo disappeared, however, Harold Dobey was frantic. When Elmo was found two days later, hanging from a meat hook in a processing factory, his partner started a downward spiral into drink and depression.

It took Edith almost a year of coaxing, cajoling, bullying and tenderness to finally make her husband understand that there was nothing he could have done to save Elmo. What had happened had happened and no one could turn back the clock. Eventually, Dobey got himself together and got back to work. He refused, however, to take a new partner and worked solo for the next couple of years before finally accepting promotion to the rank of Captain and later to become Captain of the homicide team. From then on, his confidence returned, his temper escalated, his love for his men blossomed and his waistline expanded.

Apples and crispbreads became the order of the day and each lunchbox was tossed unceremoniously onto the back seat and fed to the pigeons that congregated on Dobey's office window ledge while Harold raided the candy machine outside his office door and scavenged whatever food his men were going to leave. It was a standing joke in the squad room that Dobey was a walking trash can and only Starsky came close to matching the Captain mouthful for mouthful. But whereas the brunet cop remained lithe and fit, Dobey's trousers strained at the seams and his belt ran out of buckle holes.

Harold put the key in the ignition of his car, turned to wave at Edith as he had done at the beginning of every shift for the past 20 years, turned the key and remembered nothing more.

The blast from the bomb planted beneath the vehicle echoed around the neighbourhood. It blew Edith backwards into the house, it blew out all the windows of the Dobey residence and it sent the Captain's body spiralling through the air to land in a crumpled, untidy heap on the neighbour's lawn.

After the deafening blast, there was a preternatural silence for seconds before people started running from their homes to see what had happened. The neighbour who's lawn Dobey had landed on peered through her curtains in shock and then there was a piercing scream and a keening cry as Edith Dobey picked herself up from the hallway floor and ran out of the house to fall on her knees by the side of her husband's body.

Harold was covered in blood, his face a slick red mask, his life blood covering the burns and cuts across his features. His right leg was wedged beneath his body at an unbelievable angle and his arms were outstretched as though welcoming Edith into an embrace. The black woman's hands hovered millimetres above her husband's unconscious form unsure whether she should touch or whether she would do more damage. Finally she looked up, seeing the neighbours beginning to gather round her.

'Someone call an ambulance' she cried. 'For Gods sake get an ambulance…..I think he's dead!'

The onlookers gazed in shocked silence. Nothing like this had ever happened before in their street. The people stood stunned and mute, the only sound being the wracking sobs from the black woman and the screams as Rosey Dobey ran out of the house in her nightdress and saw her Mom and Dad on the ground.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Starsky put the phone down, his brain working a mile a minute. Should he phone in and report that the mole was someone in IA? Both he and Hutch hated the faceless men in Internal Affairs. To the brunet and his partner they were thorns in the side of every good cop out on the streets. Sure his and Hutch's approach to policing was sometimes a little creative. Neither man would deny that they twisted the rules sometimes – and at other times they took the whole rule book and threw it out of the window, but they got results.

The IA, however, didn't see the arrest results, or the numbers of flakes taken off the streets of the city, all they saw was that the cops were 200 yards outside their designated area, or that one of the perps had come in with bruises, or that they'd used "unnecessary force".

It seemed somehow ironic that the police's police were now the top suspects for a change.

Grimly, Starsky reached for the phone, but retracted his hand at the last minute. Knowing the Cougars, they'd already be looking for him and Hutch. The mole would lie low, but he'd still be there. It was probably better to go meet Huggy, get his clothes and his meds and then, when his stomach had stopped hurting quite so much, he'd be able to think straighter. Maybe he should do as Hutch had mumbled and get some 7up – that usually did the trick.

With those few words, Starsky had felt as though he could see light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe now that Hutch was away from Milano, he'd be ok. Maybe the wound on his head had somehow cancelled out whatever Sal had done to the blond. Whatever it was, it gave Starsky a glimmer of hope.

The brunet checked once more on the sleeping man on the bed. Hutch didn't seem to notice that his hands were secured above his head – in fact he didn't seem to notice anything at all. The blond was once again asleep and Starsky saw this as his chance to go to meet Huggy, trade cars and get back to the motel. He would have loved to ask the barman to bring his Torino out to him, but reluctantly he came to the conclusion that his red and white baby would stand out just as much as the maroon Jaguar in this small town. Not that Huggy's cream coloured Caddy would be any less conspicuous, but at least that car didn't have any associations with either him or Hutch.

With a final backwards glance at the unconscious blond, Starsky closed the door of the cabin and locked it behind him, pocketing the key. He got into the Jag and drove back to the toll plaza, pulling into a convenient spot to wait for Huggy to arrive. Minutes later, the custom painted Caddy pulled up behind him and Huggy Bear got out and walked over to meet him, concern and relief written all over the lugubrious features.

Starsky got out of the Jaguar and smiled at his friend. Theirs was a different sort of relationship. Huggy had started out as a regular snitch. He had his ear to the ground and knew more or less everything that went on the in shadowy underworld of Bay City. Unlike most snitches though, Huggy walked the tightrope between honest entrepreneur and petty criminal. His childhood was shrouded in mystery, the only thing being known for sure was that he'd spent some of his formative years on one of the smaller Caribbean islands. Other than that, he was an enigma and had flirted with crime all his younger life. Once he found the Pits, however, he became all business and his relationship first with Starsky and then Hutch blossomed over the years into a warm and trusting friendship.

'Huggy. Am I glad to see you' the brunet muttered with feeling.

'Where's the blond one? You need any help? You know me cassa es su cassa.'

'I know Hug, and believe me, if I could, I'd bring Hutch to your place, but you've done enough. The turkeys that he was investigatin' aren't the friendliest in the world. If they found you were somehow connected…..well, lets just say I prefer at least one friend to remain in one piece.'

Huggy's face fell into a scowl. 'I hear ya man, but….. You said you wanted at least one friend in one piece? How's Hutch. Is he hurt? Let me help.'

'He's not bad physically. But mentally…… I don't know Hug. I need to work this out on my own huh?'

'Ok, but you know where I am.'

Starsky nodded. 'I do, and as soon as I know what my game plan is, I'll be in touch. In the mean time, watch your back huh?'

Huggy nodded, patted his friend on the shoulder and was just about to walk back to his car when the brunet called him back. 'Just one more thing Hug.'

'Yeah?'

'Well, you have my wheels at your place and this baby is the one Hutch was usin'. Both cars are, shall we say, conspicuous. Can we swap? Can I drive yours? Hide the Torino, dump the Jag somewhere and rent some wheels. I'll put it on the department's tab later. The Jag's hot, the Caddy's not.'

For a brief moment, a smile cracked the barman's features. 'Starsky, you're beginnin' to talk like a brother! Don't sweat it man, take my pride and joy, just don't mess her up too much huh? Leave the maroon beast and the parade float to me. Merl will see me right.'

Starsky nodded and trotted over to the white car. 'Just one thing Hug. Don't let Merl do nuthin extra to my baby huh? He always says my white stripe is lame. I don't wanna come back to flames lickin' down the sides, or Marilyn Munroe's face painted on my hood.'

'Will do, Starsk. I'll tell him to leave it alone. Maybe just a tune up and a huge spoiler on the back…..' Huggy grinned as he saw the torment on his friend's face. 'Just jivin' with ya man. Leave it to the Bear.' Huggy got into the maroon Jaguar and drove off, leaving Starsky with the Cadillac.

With distaste he got into the cream coloured monster. Inside was pure Huggy. Tiger striped fur lined the inside of the doors, the seats clad in matching tan leather. Even the steering wheel had its own decoration of fake fur and as Starsky set the car in motion he muttered under his breath.

'The things I do for friendship Hutch! Man, you'd better get well quick. Crazy I can live with. I can even deal with ya tryin' to punch my lights out, but this? This….brothel on wheels! Some things can cost a friendship ya know.'

A quarter of an hour later, the brunet pulled up at the rear of the log cabin and got out of the car. He fumbled the key in the door lock and pushed open the door, walking into the bedroom to check on Hutch. The blond showed signs of stirring and Starsky started to make coffee at the small kitchenette in the corner of the living room.

On impulse and now that he had meds and clothes and a change of car, the cop reached for the telephone and dialled the Metro. The phone picked up on the fifth ring, but it wasn't Dobey's voice sounding down the line. Instead it sounded as though the call had been diverted and suddenly Starsky felt the need for caution.

'Can I speak with Captain Dobey please?' he said quietly.

'Who's calling?' the voice answered.

'A friend.'

'Then I regret to inform you that Captain Dobey suffered an attack on his property this morning. He's currently in Intensive Care at Memorial Hospital.'

Stunned, Starsky put down the telephone. The Cougars were quick and devastating in their planning. It's just what he would have done – cut off his channel of communication; make him unsure who to call or who to trust.'

Starsky let out a shaky sigh. _Ok Hutch, this is it. It really is who do we trust time, although this time there's me, I'm just not sure about thee._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

David Starsky had never felt as alone as he did do at that moment. Dobey was his Captain, but he was also a good friend. He and Hutch were Godfathers to Rosey, they were invited to Thanksgiving dinner and they took part in the Dobey family celebrations. Over dinners in the past, Edith had spoken to him and Hutch about just what it was like to be a cop's wife, always worrying when her husband was late home and never relaxing until he was safe through the door. Edith had said that she'd never been as relieved as when he'd made Captain and was out of the direct firing line, literally speaking. Elmo's death had been hard on her too and now that Harold was more often than not office based, she felt a measure of comfort. Right now, Starsky could only imagine what the poor woman was going through and longed to be there to comfort her, Cal and Rosey.

Along with the compassion for his friend and Captain, the brunet felt a slow brewing anger welling up inside him. The Cougars in general and Salvador Milano in particular were going to pay for what they'd done to those Starsky cared so much about. While Dobey was in the best place and being cared for by the medical professionals, Starsky worried about how he was going to deal with his partner. Hutch's head was screwed and try as he might, the only treatment Starsky could come up with was friendship, compassion and patience. Surely the bond they shared was strong enough to withstand even this? It must give Hutch something to work for – some milestone for which to aim. He crossed the small living room and looked into the bedroom.

Hutch had hardly moved since he'd left and now, with a sense of relief, Starsky took his key and unlocked the cuffs from around the big blond's wrists, stowing the metal bracelets into his back pocket and rubbing some life back into his buddy's arms. Next, he poured a bowl of warm water and added some of the antiseptic liquid Huggy had managed to buy. He sat on the edge of the bed, dipped a wodge of cotton wool into the warm water and dabbed at the crusting of dried blood on Hutch's forehead.

Once the blood had been cleaned away from the wound, Starsky could see that it was indeed only a graze and thanked his lucky stars that the stray bullet had done no more damage. The wound was perhaps an inch long and not particularly deep, but there was already bruising around the area and the blond's eye was also bruising and swelling a little. As Starsky dried the area and started to cut the gauze into shape, Hutch moaned softly and his eyes flickered open. For long moments, they remained unfocused and hazy and then the flaxen haired cop turned his head on the pillow and looked at Starsky.

'Hey there. Don't try to move, you're gonna have the mother of all headaches' the brunet said softly.

'What happened?' Hutch asked with a voice that sounded like a match striking on sandpaper.

Starsky looked fondly back at his partner. There was recognition in the crystal blue eyes and he smiled gently down at the injured man, glad that Hutch was awake and seemed to be able to move and talk ok. It felt so good to have at least a small "normal" conversation with the blond after the weeks of subterfuge and the hours of Hutch's anger being directed at him.

'There was an accident with your gun. You got a little nick in your head buddy.' Starsky lifted his hand to put the bandage in place but stopped suddenly as Hutch flinched away and turned his head.

'It's ok' the brunet assured his partner. 'It's only a nick. I just need to cover it so it don't get dirty.'

Angry eyes turned on him. 'As if you care. What happened? Tried to shoot me and missed? Jeez, you can't even do that right' Hutch snapped weakly. The blond closed his eyes and turned away leaving Starsky open mouthed and for once, lost for words.

'Hutch I….. we fought. You're sick buddy, or at least Milano did sumthin to ya. You're not yourself. It was an accident, but I'm gonna make sure you're ok.'

There was stony silence from the man on the bed and Starsky sighed. He'd known this would never be easy, but the hardness and chill in Hutch's voice brought home the reality that somewhere along the line, the blond had been turned against him. Quietly he asked 'Can I at least tape this over the wound? It's still bleedin'.'

Again there was no answer and the brunet got up and walked around to the other side of the bed. Hutch's eyes were closed, but it was evident in his rigid posture that he wasn't asleep. Getting no further response, Starsky put the bandage over the graze, smoothed it down gently and stood back.

'Can I get ya anythin'? Do ya need a drink?'

Silence.

'Do you want to sleep? You must be beat.'

No response.

'Ok….um. Well I'm here if you need anythin'. Not goin' nowhere, so……um.' Finally running out of words, Starsky sighed again and looked around the small bedroom. He too felt exhausted. The night in the basement had done him no good at all, although now he's taken his meds, the pains in his stomach had abated somewhat and he could think a little more clearly. Silently, Starsky pulled the chair to the corner of the room, subconsciously giving Hutch as much space as he could, and sat down, resting his head on the chair back as he stared at the ceiling. How the hell had it come to this?

It had been a long couple of days for the curly haired cop. During that time, he'd been beaten, kidnapped, held against his will and had escaped with his partner. But did Hutch really want to be here? And what was Starsky going to do with the blond now? In other situations he would have turned to Huggy or to Dobey, the two men he trusted most after Hutch. Huggy, however, had done as much as Starsky dared ask of him while Dobey had almost paid the ultimate price for his involvement with the two detectives. The brunet felt truly alone and as darkness started to fall again, he let his eyes slide closed. Maybe after a few hours sleep he would feel better. Maybe once he was feeling refreshed, he'd have the clarity of mind to know what to do to help Hutch. Slowly sleep overtook him and Starsky's body relaxed as his breathing slowed and quieted.

Meanwhile, on the bed, Hutch lay unmoving. His head pounded with each beat of his heart and although he detested the fact that Starsky was anywhere near him, he had to admit to himself that since the brunet had bathed his wound and dressed it, it felt a lot more comfortable.

The flaxen haired cop remembered little of the preceding few hours. The fight on the cliff top was only a vague memory. The one thing he knew clearly was that Starsky had kidnapped him and was holding him against his will. Even though the handcuffs had been removed, he could still feel the cold of the metal around his wrists and he asked himself what sort of "friend" would do that to another? His only hope was that Sal would come looking for him, after all, Milano was his best buddy, wasn't he? Any friend would come looking for someone who was missing. If only he could get out of the room and go looking for a means of escape he could get back to the Cougars and normality. If he could take out the brunet on his way, that would be an added bonus.

So Hutch remained still and tense on the bed feigning sleep. He listened carefully to Starsky as the brunet walked quietly around the room before sitting down on the chair in the corner. Hutch counted the minutes as the room grew quiet and Starsky ceased to move. Was he asleep, or was this just a trick? Very carefully, he opened his eyes and stole a look around him. In the dim light, he saw the brunet's body slumped in the chair, his eyes closed and a gentle snore coming from his lips.

Cautiously, Hutch sat up and shuffled off the bed. The woodpecker in his head redoubled its effort to hammer its way out through his eye sockets and the blond gritted his teeth against the pain. The gunshot was Starsky's failed attempt to finally kill him, Hutch was convinced of that and now he saw his chance to get his revenge and escape. He stood up, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him. Staggering, he took a step forward, his eyes on the sleeping brunet. With no other plan in his head other than to dispose of Starsky and get out of the cabin, Hutch lurched forward, tripped slightly and landed on top of the brunet, his hands clawing for Starsky's throat.

Deep indigo blue eyes flashed open in alarm and with a movement born of pure reflex, Starsky stood up, his own hands taking a hold of those around his neck. With a roar of shock, the two men overbalanced. Starsky's knee, the one Hutch had damaged earlier had stiffened and swollen and now he could hardly bear weight on it. It let him down and he fell to the floor bringing Hutch with him.

'Hutch…..buddy…..s'me. Back off' Starsky gasped as the fingers dug deeper into his throat.

'You tried to fuckin' kill me' Hutch yelled, his own face inches from his partner's.

'No, I didn't……Hutch……shit……don't make me……' Starsky struggled to dislodge the blond without hurting him to much, but Hutch had a death grip around Starsky's throat and oxygen was becoming an issue. The brunet tried one last time to get the taller man to see reason.

'Why would I kill ya…..I love ya man.'

'Shudup' Hutch yelled in utter confusion. 'Just shudup.' He let go with his right hand and drew it back to punch out at Starsky and in that one fleeting moment, the smaller man saw his chance and with a fluid movement, he wriggled away out of Hutch's grasp, coming up behind the blond to wrap an arm around the strong tanned neck.

Now it was Hutch's turn to gasp and Starsky hissed in his ear. 'Will ya cut it out Blintz?'

For a second, at the sound of the familiar name, Hutch stopped struggling and Starsky loosened his hold marginally. A moment later, however, the blond redoubled his efforts and threw his head back, the back of Hutch's skull connecting with Starsky's nose with a resounding thud. Stunned and with his eyes tearing in shock, the brunet let go completely, his hands flying up to his nose and coming back slick with blood. Hutch scrambled out of the way and Starsky lurched to his feet, grabbing at the back of Hutch's jeans. He caught hold of them and the momentum swung the blond around until he was facing the blazing deep blue eyes.

'Don't do this buddy' Starsky said in measured tones.

'Do what? Try and escape from a madman?'

'Don't fight. Let me help ya.'

'I don't need your help, I need to get the fuck 'way from you' Hutch snapped.

'You need help. Listen to yourself! What's going on Hutch? What's going on in your head? What did Sal do to you?'

'Showed me the truth. Showed me what I've been too blind to understand all these years.'

'And that is?' Starsky asked. The answer left him breathless.

'That you were never my friend. That you wanted to hold me back, bring me down, and to think I saved your life!'

'Hutch…..don't say no more, please buddy. You don't know what….'

The blond cut off any further comments as he hurled himself once again at Starsky who side stepped smartly and without pausing for thought joined his hands together into a club and brought them down full force on the back of Hutch's neck. The flaxen haired cop dropped like a stone and Starsky leaned back against the wall sickened at what he'd had to do and panting heavily.

Limping, he made his way into the small, utilitarian bathroom, grabbed a towel and held it to his bloody nose. He came back into the bedroom and gazed sorrowfully at his partner's unconscious form wondering what the hell he was going to do now.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Ken Hutchinson came back to awareness slowly. He'd drifted in and out of sleep all night. His head was a miasma of pain and when he closed his eyes, or blinked too hard, or even thought, red daggers of agony spiked through his skull and threatened to make him lose his last meal on the edge of the bed. Without thinking about it, he raised his hand and gently probed the covered wound on his forehead. It smarted and the blond bit back a groan and instead lay quietly, his eyes fastened on the ceiling of the small log cabin.

Just for a while he didn't want to engage with anyone, let alone the brunet he felt sure was sitting in the corner. Right now, Hutch wanted to try to get his thoughts into some sort of order. He needed to get out. He needed to get back to Sal. Killing Starsky didn't seem to be an option and for some unfathomable reason, he didn't care about it any more. The fight with his former partner had felt wrong somehow and again Hutch inwardly cursed. The brunet had done it again – he'd made Hutch feel that he was in the wrong. He'd taken all the satisfaction out of his plight and that still made Hutch angry.

Very slowly the blond turned onto his side and looked at the man in the chair opposite from beneath shaded lids. Starsky was sitting back in the chair, blood stains covering the front of his tee shirt. Hutch felt the echo of the connection between the back of his head and Starsky's nose as if it had just happened, and yet there was still no satisfaction.

At the sounds from the bed, Starsky opened his eyes and hitched himself upright in the chair. This time Hutch got a good look at the smaller man and winced at the two rapidly bruising eyes and the cut across the bridge of Starsky's nose. He was almost sorry for causing the hurt and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask the brunet if he was ok, but something made his stop, '_Hey buddy, how're ya doin'?_' The words sprang naturally to his lips but he bit them back and instead closed his eyes again.

'You can't hide from me forever' Starsky's voice held a nasal quality reflecting just how damaged his nose was. The blond stiffened but said nothing. 'Hutch. I said you can't….'

'I heard ya.'

'So talk to me then. C'mon Pal, throw me a line here. You've never done the silent treatment on me before.'

'You've never cuffed me to the bed before' Hutch snapped.

'Believe me, I didn't want to. I didn't know what else to do. I didn't want you to hurt yourself or do sumthin stupid.'

'So instead you tied me up, fought with me and knocked me out….twice. Great. Peachy. Sal was right all along.'

'Sal wasn't right. Milano poisoned your mind. God knows what he's done to ya in the last couple of weeks, but you've changed Hutch. You've changed and I'm tryin' to make it better.'

'By knocking me out! That always was always your way, wasn't it? Action first, reason after. If I hadn't been around, you'd have been dead a long time ago.'

'Maybe. You always watched my back' Starsky said softly.

'Uh huh. Shows how stupid I was.' Hutch glared at the brunet but instead of seeing anger in the indigo eyes, he saw something else that made him feel uncomfortable. The hurt was obvious and the blond couldn't stand it. He looked away. Fuck Starsky, there he was, doing it again – making Hutch out to be the bad guy. _OK Hutchinson. Make him angry. If you make him angry he'll stop looking at you like a bloody puppy dog._

'What's that supposed to mean?' the brunet asked with a break in his voice.

'Exactly what it says. I've wasted the last six years of my life on you and the thing I really regret is just how blind I've been. Who planted that bomb in my car huh? Did you know about it?'

'No! Hutch….'

'Who was it who left me for two stinkin' days with Ben Forest? You couldn't have got there sooner? Did you enjoy watchin' me twitch and moan? Did you like the fact that for once you were stronger and smarter than me? Did it give you a buzz, huh?'

'You know I didn't. Don't do this……don't say things you'll regret later' the brunet said a little louder than he wanted to. Despite his best resolve to remain cool and calm, Hutch's inflammatory words were beginning to get to him, not because of the words themselves, but more because of what had happened to his partner to cause them.

Across from Starsky, Hutch saw the brief flare of anger in the eyes he knew so well and a small spark of hope kindled in his heart. He could get under Starsky's skin; he could still make the brunet smart and Hutch knew that once the curly haired cop's anger had been raised, it slow burned until it exploded. At that point, Starsky would begin to fight back, and at that point, Hutch would have the reaction he felt he deserved and would have the chance to fight once more and escape. If Starsky would only take the bait, Hutch felt sure he would finally have the longed for feeling of vindication.

'I should have said these things a long time ago. I should have made it easier on myself years ago' Hutch pressed, seeing a brief tint of colour on Starsky's cheeks below the deep blue bruised eyes.

Starsky said nothing. He could hardly bear the anger and spitefulness in his partner's words and felt that no question was preferable to allowing Hutch to enlarge on what he'd just said. Instead, Starsky took a deep breath and stared at the floor between them, shaking his head slowly.

'Why the hell did I bust a gut finding the antidote to Jenning's poison? I could've brought you back to the hospital and let Franklin do his thing and said goodbye to ya then. Dobey told me time was up, but noooo, Hutch to the rescue on his white charger again. I found the stuff in Jenning's home. I brought it back with a half an hour to spare and what was my thanks? You make out like you're an invalid. You play on my emotions with your cane and your dark glasses. "Get me some water Hutch….. I need my meds Hutch" when all you wanted to do was to jet off to some fuckin' Caribbean island.'

Starsky felt as though he'd been hit by a sledge hammer, his instinct being to close out Hutch's vitriolic rantings, or at least punch the blond's lights out. Instead, he gritted his teeth and dug his nails into the palms of his hands until he felt the skin break.

'Please……don't' the brunet said through clenched teeth. 'Don't say no more.'

'Oh believe me _Pal_ I've only just got started. After all that, and all the fond "Oh Hutch how's the hand? Oh Hutch don't take the morphine, it'll get ya hooked again" then we had all the fuckin' shit with Marcus….'

Starsky stood up quickly, almost knocking the chair back in his rush. He paced the small room as Hutch watched him, a slow grin forming on his face as he realised he was at last pushing all of the brunet's buttons.

'Don't go there Hutch' Starsky warned. The episode of the two days of his kidnap were still to fresh and horrendous in his mind and his body still suffered from the after effects of his treatment. Only Hutch truly knew how much his treatment at Marcus' men had affected the curly haired cop; only Hutch was privy to the brunet's nightmares, his waking dreams and his feelings that a new cult member lurked around every corner, waiting to take him again. While the red welts from the whip across his back had faded to a pale pink, the burn over his eye had healed and the medication dealt with the pains in his stomach, it was the damage done to his mind that was the worry – and the one area Hutch had helped most with. This episode more than any other was too painful for Starsky to hear rancid comments from his friend.

Hutch however, had no such worries. In the blond's mind, Starsky deserved to hear all of this. Sal had told him how Starsky had held him back and how the brunet would sooner see him dead. He felt betrayed by Starsky after all the love and care he'd lavished on the smaller man, not least of all during the long nights of Starsky's recovery, when he'd wake to the phone ringing at 3 in the morning to hear stuttering, breathless tones calling his name. In those first couple of weeks, Starsky's nightmares had occurred each and every night, so that for ease, and peace of mind, Hutch finally moved into Starsky's apartment and slept on the couch to be there when he was needed.

'Where don't you want me to go buddy? You don't want me to mention how sick and tired I got of being woken in the night just so that you could chase away the monsters under your bed? Don't you know that only little kids still sleep with the light on Starsk? Haven't you realised yet that it's only frightened little boys who wake up so wet with sweat they have to change the bed?'

Hutch glared at Starsky who stood with his back braced against the wall. The brunet's face was a picture of hurt, with a tint of anger that was quickly blossoming. Unable to stop himself, Starsky pointed his left index finger at his partner. 'That's enough' he growled. 'Don't say nuthin else Hutch or….'

'Or what? You'll hit me again? Does it make ya feel better? Want to cuff me to the bed first so I won't fight back? I have no idea why I even came lookin' for ya at that old zoo. I should've just left 'em to it, they seemed hell bent on finishing ya. I don't know why I didn't just let 'em.'

Starsky let out a yell of rage and pain. The words were delivered with such feeling that he couldn't listen to them any more. Sal had done a great job at poisoning Hutch's mind – very thorough…..too thorough. Now the brunet knew his temper would not survive much more of this and the one thing he would never do was to hurt his partner. Without thinking too much about his actions, the curly headed cop launched himself across the room at Hutch. The blond hardly had time to see it coming before Starsky's body had him pressed back against the mattress on the bed. He had no time to struggle before Starsky had taken his cuffs, grabbed Hutch's right wrist and had secured it to the bed rail.

Panting heavily. The brunet bounced off the bed, leaving Hutch startled and staring after him.

'Is that it? Is that your answer to everything?' the blond yelled.

Starsky hardened his heart. He said nothing, not trusting himself to open his mouth for fear he'd say the wrong thing. Instead, he walked purposefully to the door and opened it. He walked into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind him and locking it.

'Starsky….STARSKYYYYYY.' Hutch's voice yelled from behind the closed door. 'Starsky, let me gooooo. You can't leave me here like this. I'll fuckin'…..'

In a rush, Starsky walked out of the log cabin, slamming the door behind him so that his partner's yelling was no more than a muffled blur and the words indecipherable. He sniffed once and wiped an angry hand over his eyes, feeling the moisture there. _This isn't Hutch talking, it isn't Hutch…..not _Hutch he told himself over and over. The words though echoed round and around in his head, the vitriolic, vicious words that only Hutch could have used.

Mindlessly, Starsky did the only thing he could think of to calm himself. He got into Huggy Bear's cream coloured Cadillac and drove, smoothly; without thinking; letting the car take him where it wanted while the road soothed him, the singing of the tires over the blacktop lulled him and the hypnotic white lines on the road cleared all thoughts from his head.

A half an hour later, Starsky pulled to a halt by the dunes on the coast road. Getting out of the car stiffly, he limped over the hills of sand and sat down heavily on the cool grains. Looking out to sea, the brunet closed his eyes and allowed the salt air to blow through his curls as the night air cooled his body. And slowly, he started to think.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

The curly haired man sat still, elbows resting on his knees as he stared out into the inky blackness. Beneath him, the sand cooled, the grasses around him whispered gently in the playful night time breeze and the stars above him twinkled down. Starsky's mind continued to reel. His hours with Hutch in that small bedroom had left his nerves jangling and his temper severely frayed. Ordinarily, he would have turned to his friends for comfort. Ordinarily, he would have had his Captain to turn to, but with Dobey's life hanging in the balance in the hospital and with his promise to himself not to put Huggy in danger, the brunet felt more alone and lonely than he could ever remember feeling.

'_You don't want me to mention how sick and tired I got of being woken in the night just so that you could chase away the monsters under your bed? Don't you know that only little kids still sleep with the light on Starsk?'………….'_ _I have no idea why I even came lookin' for ya at that old zoo. I should've just left 'em to it, they seemed hell bent on finishing ya. I don't know why I didn't just let 'em.'_

The cruel words came back to haunt him again and the more he thought about it, the more Starsky realised that there was some truth in Hutch's rant. He had turned to Hutch – all the time. Hutch was his friend, his confidant, his brother, his Mom and his Dad all in one. And how had Starsky treated him? How had he used his best friend? How many times had he known Hutch miss a date because Starsky needed him? How many times had the blond put his own life on hold so that he could make sure he, Starsky, was ok? How many times had he been there for the brunet? Hutch was always there for him, be it day or night. Hutch was the white knight coming to save him on his galloping white charger and Starsky had almost come to expect it.

With a soft snicker, Starsky realised he'd come to view Hutch as a convenience. He'd come to use him almost like a wife would use a husband – to be chief hand holder; the one who sorts out the problems; the man who always has the answers and makes it all better.

With a yelp of rage, the brunet ran his fingers through his curls, grabbing a handful and yanking at them as he screwed his eyes closed. He'd been such a fool. He'd taken Hutch's friendship and had sometimes thrown it back in the blond's face because Hutch was indeed, always there. Hutch was his saviour. Hutch was the man who was so familiar that he was almost part of the furniture. Heart beat, lungful of air, Hutch. The blond was as much a part of Starsky's life as the air he breathed or the food he ate, and now, the tall, handsome, flaxen haired man had every right to be pissed. Hell, Starsky was pissed at himself too!

He never knew Hutch felt like this. Sal might have put the frosting onto Hutch's thoughts, but they surely must have been there to begin with and it was all Starsky's fault because he'd taken his partner for granted. He'd laughed at him, chided him, made fun of his car, his clothes and his love of music but never once had he sat down and actually listened to him. He'd never taken the opportunity to try to understand the blond and now, all Hutch's feelings – hurtful feelings, but true feelings – were coming back to haunt the brunet.

Why hadn't he fought harder to stop Hutch taking this assignment? They were partners, right? And partners were meant to work together, not solo. Starsky had no doubt that Hutch was excellent as an undercover officer, but without backup, the brunet knew first hand just how lonely and dangerous undercover assignments could be. Why hadn't he tried harder? Why hadn't he been more forceful with his buddy? Why hadn't he stopped Hutch, so that this would never have happened? But deep down, Starsky worried. Did he feel like this because of what had happened to Hutch? Or was it because the assignment had made Hutch tell him exactly what the blond had been thinking all these years? Was it the damage done to his friend, or the damage done to Starsky's ego that was troubling the brunet more? Was he really so shallow?

_Dammit Hutchinson! Why the hell did you have to do this?_

_Or has it happened so that I will value you more? Ma said all things happen for a reason. Is this truly it? Are these your real feelings Blintz? Or am I dealing with my guilt and loading all this onto your plate? Where's the shrinks when ya really need 'em huh?_

Laying back on the cool soft sand, Starsky closed his eyes, wishing he could turn back the clock. He put his hand up to his head, wincing at the smart not only from his bloody nose and blackened eyes, but also at the thoughts swimming around in his head. The cool night breeze gently caressed his overheated skin, laying soft kisses onto his hurts and the sand moulded to his aching body and cushioned him from below. The sounds of the waves hissing against the sand lulled him slowly and without trying to stop himself, Starsky drifted into a dreamworld where he was transported back to the old zoo and surrounded by chanting again.

'_Lemme go. You don't know what you're doin'. Kidnapping a cop's a federal offence. You'll get 8 to 10 for this. Just let me go now huh?'_

'_Si-mon didn't dream your escape' ………._

'_SHUDDUP! I know you're out there, I can smell ya'_

_Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon……'_

'_You're wasting your time, d'ya hear me?'_

_Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon……._

'_Quit the chantin'. That ain't gonna save Marcus either. I know you're out there, I can smell ya. I can smell every one of ya…….'_

'_They're all -mon dreamed they would watch'_

_Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon_

'_You're gonna kill me. Yes you are…..you're gonna kill me'_

_Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon_

'_And your friends are gonna watch'_

'_No, I'm not goin' to kill you', o__nly make the first stroke' _

'_Gail….. C'mon honey, look at me, listen to me._

'_The first of hundreds…. '_

_Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon_

'_Thousands…. '_

_Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon_

'_Millions……'_

_Hutch._

_Oh God Hutch. If ya find me buddy, look away, it ain't gonna be pretty. Starsky steeled himself for the first kiss of the blade. His hands, purple and swollen from his time hanging in the old aviary were numb and useless. His body hurt. His stomach felt as though tendrils of fire were licking through his guts and the wounds from the whip on his back smarted from the sweat running down his spine. The brunet closed his eyes, taking what he knew must be his last breath and then…._

The curly haired man woke up screaming. He had fistfuls of sand held close to him and his eyes stared wildly ahead into the starlit night. His first instinct was Hutch. Find Hutch. Hutch will make it better…..make the dreams go away and instinctively he reached for a phone that wasn't there. Slowly his breathing quieted and he sat up, looking around him. The beach was deserted, of course and a cursory look at his watch told him why – it was 4:45am and still very dark.

Starsky wrapped his arms around his knees, shivering in the cool night air. The dream – the same he'd had for the past months since Hutch had rescued him – remained with him and despite looking around and seeing no-one, Starsky felt as though there were a thousand eyes watching him. Although there was no sound other than the hiss and crash of the waves upon the shore, the brunet's fevered imagination could also hear distant chanting – Si-mon, Si-mon…..Si-mon and with a rush, Starsky got to his feet. The soft sand sucked at his ankles as the sweating man made his way quickly over the dunes. Starsky constantly looked over his shoulder, checking on the shadows that threatened to overwhelm him and by the time he'd got to the car, got in and closed and locked the doors, his breath was singing in his throat and he was panting heavily.

Taking a few moments in the tiger furred safety of Huggy's borrowed car, Starsky ran a shaking hand over his brow. Damn, this had to stop. He needed help, not only for himself, but mostly for Hutch. He'd come to realise just how much he owed to the big blond and whatever words Hutch had used, whatever the flaxen haired man had said, it was deserved, it was true and it was down to the brunet to make it right. Hutch had helped Starsky so much that now it was his turn to repay his partner. Not that he wouldn't have done before all this. Oh no! Starsky would have given his eye teeth to save Hutch, but now the feelings of debt crowded in on him even more and Starsky resolved that come hell or high water, he was gonna make this right.

He sat still for a moment. _Ok Davey, think. Huggy's ruled out, Dobey is…..don't go there. Don't punish yourself any more right now. Dobey is ruled out too. So….c'mon, think. Who? You need help. Who would…. Oh yeah! Yesyesyes! That's it. Why didn't ya think of it before, dimwit?_

Starsky started the engine of the car, a small grin on his face. He had a plan and a Starsky with a plan was a happy Starsky. The brunet drove purposefully through the rapidly brightening morning and pulled onto the parking lot of a gas station. Fishing some dimes out of his jeans pocket, he made two phone calls - one to the Army base that lay to the south of Bay City and the second to Memorial hospital to see how Dobey was. He didn't give a name to the nurse on duty, instead telling her only that he was a friend. In the cautious way that nurses have, she told Starsky that Harold had had a comfortable night and was stable, but still critical. His burns were being tended to and his broken arm and leg were set. He was in traction, but his pain was manageable and so long as there were no complications, he may be taken off the ventilator that afternoon. Satisfied that that was as good as it was likely to get, Starsky put down the phone and thought. On impulse, he made a third call, waiting for the phone to pick up and a sleepy vice to answer.

'If my bar aint burnin' down, I'm gonna hang up' Huggy's voice sounded thick with sleep.

'Hug, its Starsky.'

'You aint crashed my wheels have ya?'

'No. Your pimpmobile is safe with me. Listen, one thing you could do for me?'

'Name it' Huggy said without a pause. A warm rush of gratituse washed over Starsky and he took a deep breath.

'Ya heard about Dobey? I …..well I got my hands full right now. Could you um….'

'You want me to minister to the sick and distressed of the parish?' Huggy asked

'If you could. I mean……'

There was a snicker down the line. 'Brothers gotta stick together. Hospital visiting aint the sole property of de white man, ya dig. Don't sweat it, I'll do the grapes and flowers run. How's the blond one doin'?'

Starsky paused. 'I um…..I've called in reinforcements.'

'I can help' the black man started.

'No, Hug. You've done enough man. I don't want you involved any more than ya have to be. It's fine. I've got it covered, but…..well, me an' Hutch are gonna be layin' low for a while, just so as you know. I'll get a contact number to ya when I can. Oh…..and tell Edith, I'll get it to her too. I guess she can use all her friends right now.'

'Sure thing. Be seein' ya. And Starsk? Watch your back huh?'

Starsky put the phone down and got back into the car. With dawn well and truly broken and the morning sky a clear milky blue, the brunet drove quickly back to the motel and parked up at the back of the cabin. All was quiet inside so he surmised that Hutch may well be asleep and so, not wanting another solo confrontation, the brunet walked quietly back to the entrance to the motel grounds, found a convenient wall and waited for reinforcements.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Hutch sat on the bed, fuming. The cuff around his right wrists was not over tight, but he'd grazed the skin trying to pull the damned thing off in his anger. When he had been taunting Starsky he had wanted the brunet to fight back. He'd wanted the satisfaction of having a fair and even fight with his partner so that he could feel the true vindication for all the shit that Starsky had put him through over the years. He'd expected the brunet's famous temper to explode and for Starsky to come at him with all guns blazing, figuratively speaking, and even though Hutch's head was at exploding point, the blond had felt ready to take him on – and win.

What Hutch didn't expect, however, was for Starsky to launch himself physically across the room in order to cuff him to the bed and then leave. Once again, Starsky had spoiled his enjoyment, had foiled his plans and had left Hutch fuming as he sat on the bed edge, trying to make his hand as small as possible so that he could escape the cuff. He'd yelled for his partner long after he heard the front door to the cabin close, hoping that the curly haired man would be lurking around outside the small room. He'd shouted until his voice was hoarse and his head felt ready to fall from his shoulders, but when he heard a car engine start up and the spit of gravel under tyres, the blond realised that he was once again alone.

Eventually, Hutch's temper subsided somewhat and he sat with the pillows doubled against the headboard so that he could sit upright resting his head back against the wall. With his legs outstretched in front of him, Hutch closed his eyes against the throbbing headache and allowed his mind to wander.

So much had happened in the last 24 hours and despite wanting to feel angry at Starsky, there was something at the back of his mind that made him feel cheap and dirty for the things he'd said to the smaller man.

'_I've wasted the last six years of my life on you and the thing I really regret is just how blind I've been. Who planted that bomb in my car huh? Did you know about it?'_

Hutch winced inwardly as he remembered the look of pure hurt in those indigo eyes he was trying so desperately to hate. Without thinking he looked down at his right hand, the one that had been burned in the bomb blast and he fingered the small, silvery scars on the back of it. Starsky had been by his side immediately after the blast. As the last echoes of the bomb were fading, the brunet had put his arms around his friend and helped Hutch gently to the ground as the blond had gripped his right wrist in his left hand and had shuddered and groaned in pain and shock.

It had been over in a second, but the effects were devastating.

'_Easy, easy, it'll be ok'_

Starsky's worried voice sounded in Hutch's mind and he pushed his knuckles into his forehead, trying to force out the caring words. It wasn't right. It was another trick. Starsky hadn't cared about him at all. Except that despite Hutch's attempts to think otherwise, there was still the nagging doubt that in reality, the brunet had been as shocked by the bomb as Hutch had, and had vowed to get Arty Solkin put behind bars for what he'd done to Hutch.

Weary, Hutch tried to sleep. With his hand doubled behind him and locked to the head of the bed, he found it difficult to get comfortable, but his exhaustion and the pounding in his head finally broke down his resolve and he slipped into a fitful slumber.

_He was driving himself ever faster up the hill, his long, powerful legs eating up the ground, but he couldn't get there fast enough. He could hear sickening chanting in the distance and yet his legs refused to move quickly enough and he felt as though he were slowing down and running through molasses. He clawed at tree trunks and grasped at handfuls of grass in an attempt to pull himself forwards faster, but nothing seemed to help and above him, he could see a black cloaked figure swinging by its hands from a rusty iron framework._

_The chanting continued. Si-mon, Si-mon, Si-mon and still Hutch struggled up the hill towards his partner but as his rubbery legs finally hauled his body over the crest of the rise, he knew it was too late. The girl was already kissing the blade of the knife and as Hutch watched, she raised her hands and brought the blade down in a lethal arc, carving a deep, bloody furrow down Starsky's chest._

_The brunet let out a deep guttural scream, his head back as he looked skywards. The scream died away and as replaced by a moaning, keening sound. Hutch…..Hutch, why didn't ya save me? Hutch….hurts._

_With a sob, Hutch lurched forwards but not fast enough to stop the crowd from descending on his partner's swaying body. The screams and moans died away as silver blades flashed and chains thudded into the lithe, muscular body and slowly the blood formed a ruby, slick pool beneath the limp hanging man and then the group were gone and Hutch was alone with Starsky._

_The blond cradled his partner in his arms, knowing that it was too late and that Starsky was fading fast. The indigo eyes flickered open one last time and the smaller man's lips worked to form the words…..'You doubted my friendship. I was always your friend, but you hate me.'_

_Hutch twined his fingers through the sweat damp curls clinging to Starsky's forehead and watched the light go out behind the eyes. Desperately, he hugged the body to him, fear and anguish flooding his being as he threw back his head and howled at the sky. 'Starsky….nooooo. Don't go. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to doubt……Forgive me.'_

A sound shook the sweating blond awake and in shock, Hutch realised he'd been woken by his own sob. He lay still, panting for a moment, reliving the last vestiges of the nightmare. Starsky dead…..Starsky dying in his arms. He knew it wasn't true and that the brunet was very much alive, and yet it had felt so real. His partner's last words came back to him like a pail of ice water hitting Hutch in the face.

'_I was always your friend, but you hate me.'_

There had been no accusation in Starsky's voice, just a deep, bone crushing sorrow that Hutch felt as though it were his own. The last thing he'd ever want to do would be to….to….. NO! This wasn't right! Sal knew better. Sal had made him wise up to Starsky's manipulative ways and here was the brunet again, even infiltrating Hutch's dreams. He wouldn't leave the blond alone. Not even in sleep could Hutch escape the pervasive brunet. Damn you David Starsky. Damn you to hell!

Hutch sat himself up straighter on the bed, looking around him. He was thirsty and there was water on the bedside table, but he couldn't reach it because he was cuffed to the bed head. Another one of Starsky's tortures – let him see the water, but don't let him drink it. See? Sal Milano had been right all along. Starsky didn't care about him.

Outside the cabin, the object of Hutch's hate was sitting on the wall, watching and waiting. Starsky felt weary, but at the same time, he felt a little hope now that he had a plan. His half hour sitting in the cool of the early morning gave him chance to try to clear his mind. He didn't want to think about Hutch's comments any more. They hurt too much and Starsky felt somehow they were too close to the mark to be irrational. If, no – when things got back to normal, maybe then might be the time to re-evaluate what they'd got, but until Hutch was recovered, only the treatment, if there was any, was on Starsky's mind.

Finally, a black Corvette drove up the narrow road in a cloud of dust. It slowed as it got to the entrance to the motel and pulled to a halt as Starsky got stiffly from his perch to walk to the roadside and bend down to look into the car.

'Am I glad to see you' the brunet said with feeling.

'Hey, a friend in need …..is to be avoided at all costs. Only jokin' with ya. I came as soon as I could.' Tom Trafford's (Traff to his friends) familiar face grinned up at his long time Army friend.

'It's the last cabin on the right, you can park round the back. I'll see you up there' the cop directed and stood back as the Corvette set off up the steep track. Minutes later, Starsky embraced Traff, hugging the man a little longer than normal. When he pulled away, Traff's startling emerald green eyes searched his friend's face.

'What's this all about Curly? Is Hutch hurt?'

'Not hurt exactly. Well, not too much' Starsky snorted softly as he fingered his own busted nose and black eyes.

'Did he? ….Oh my God! Did he do that to ya?'

The brunet nodded ruefully. 'It aint him Traff. I mean it is……its his body, but I don't think Hutch is home right now, or at least if he is, someone's done a real number on his head.'

'I can see that' Traff replied. Gently he put his finger under his friend's chin and raised Starsky's face to the light, probing softly at the wounds. 'Your nose is broken but I think it'll set just fine if you leave it well alone.'

'Will it spoil my devastating good looks?' Starsky asked with a brief grin. 'I don't care about me. I need you to go see Hutch. I um….well I didn't want him goin' anywhere, so I um….' the cop shuffled his feet uncomfortably as he stared at the floor. '….I cuffed him to the bed. You'll probably want this' he held up the small silver key.'

Traff took it without comment. 'Leave it with me buddy. Do you want to come in, or?....'

'I think it's probably best if I stay out the way' Starsky muttered. 'Be careful Pal, I hate to say it, but he aint the man you knew.'

With a nod, the soldier walked into the cabin and closed the door behind him, leaving Starsky to sit down on the wooden steps and wait.

Traff let himself into the small unit and knocked on the bedroom door. He didn't want to startle Hutch but at the same time he didn't want to give the blond too much notice that he was there. Gently he opened the door and poked his head round.

'Hutch?'

The blond looked up swiftly and a grin broke the handsome golden features. 'Traff! What the hell?'

The soldier walked into the bedroom but left the door open. 'How's it hangin'? You look like you've been in the wars' he said, pointing to the wound on Hutch's forehead and the blue/black bruise beneath the white dressing.

'Been better. Pardon me if I don't get up, but….' The flaxen haired man rattled the cuff against the bedstead.

Swiftly, Traff unlocked the handcuff and Hutch rubbed appreciatively at his reddened skin. He reached finally for the water and sipped it slowly. 'What're ya doin' here?'

Traff sat down on the bed. So far, Hutch seemed perfectly lucid. He hadn't made a move to escape, he hadn't cursed or thrown anything at Traff, in fact he seemed to be the same fairly mild mannered man the soldier had always known. 'Starsky asked me to come. He's worried about you' he said softly.

A shadow passed over Hutch's face and the grin of welcome faded. 'Is he?'

'You know he is.'

'I don't know nothing. You don't know him Traff. I thought I did, but I know different now' Hutch snapped, his voice suddenly louder and harsher.

Traff hitched a breath, but using all his Army training, he kept his voice light and his tone even. 'How's that buddy? What made you change your mind?'

'Does a friend cuff you to the bed?'

'No, but….'

'Does a friend leave you alone in a friggin' cabin while he goes off to God knows where?' Hutch's voice was now loud, his face registering righteous anger but Traff held his stance, keeping his body relaxed and non confrontational.

'I just wondered what had happened to make you change your mind. I mean, he used to be closer to you than a brother.'

The blond snickered. 'Just shows how stupid I was! You should be careful, Traff. You shouldn't trust Starsky - he's a bad guy, you should get out of his way.'

The soldier nodded thoughtfully. 'Maybe you're right.'

'I know I am. I….'

Hutch was interrupted as Starsky walked into the room with a tray of drinks. The coffee pots were precariously balanced on the tray and in an effort to stop them spilling Starsky stole a brief glance at the man on the bed before laying his gun down on the table to hand out the coffees.

Hutch glared at the curly haired cop. He waited until Starsky moved away from the table and then, quicker that either Traff or Starsky could react, he shot off the bed and made a grab for the weapon. Stunned, it took a moment to register what was happening before Starsky launched himself across the room. The blond had been confined to the bed for a few hours, however, and was still suffering from the dizziness caused by the gunshot wound. Starsky managed to grab the gun first and threw it across the room away from Hutch's searching hands. With a yell, the blond started to hit out at Starsky yelling to Traff to get out and that Starsky was gonna try and kill the both of them.

The soldier was shocked to the core. It wasn't that he hadn't believed Starsky's account, just that Hutch had seemed so calm when he'd been talking to him. When Starsky came into the room, however, it was as though someone had thrown a switch in the blond cop's head and he went berserk.

With a grunt, Starsky managed to get himself out from underneath Hutch's body and straddled the supine cop. With difficulty he pinned Hutch's hands to the ground above the blond's head and stared down into the ice cold crystal blue eyes.

'Hutch, don't do this. Please don't do this. Calm down buddy. Calm down an' relax.'

'You gonna knock me out again?'

'No, course not. Are ya gonna behave?'

Hutch looked over Starsky's shoulder to Traff. 'See what he's like? He's crazy. See if you can talk to him, but for Gods sake be careful'

Traff nodded. 'I can see what's going on buddy. Go back and lie on the bed huh? Just relax, it looks like you could do with some sleep. Let me handle this.'

Carefully, Starsky got up and stood back as Hutch got to his knees and then to his feet, limping painfully over to the bed. The blond lay down and cushioned the pain free side of his head on his arm. 'Be careful Traff' he managed to say before sleep overcame him again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Traff came out of the bedroom and closed the door softly behind him. Starsky was sitting on the small sofa, his head in his hands and he didn't look up as Traff came to sit on the chair opposite.

'How long's he been like this? How long have you had to deal with this shit?' the soldier asked with such compassion on his voice that it brought a lump to the brunet's throat.

Starsky looked up slowly. 'He was undercover. It was a tough assignment and he's been under for almost two months. I managed to see him two weeks ago and he was fine. The Feds were running the show and they didn't like the fact I was in the background. They called me a wild card….'

'Gee, fancy that!' Traff interrupted with a grin.

Starsky scowled and carried on '…..and when Hutch didn't turn up again, I tried to tell 'em he was in trouble. Then things turned real nasty. I saw him at the Pits….I thought he needed to see me, but when I went out back we had a fight in the alley and that's when I realised he'd changed. Since then, he knocked me out and took me back to the gang. He….well lets just say I've seen better sides to him.'

'You mean he hurt ya?'

Starsky refused to engage the emerald green eyes opposite. 'Yeah and then he….oh shit it wasn't him.'

'He what?'

'He took a fuckin' needle and shot me up! After that I managed to get us both away from the gang. They must have known I knew something about the assignment and that I'd try to tell Dobey coz they planted a bomb under his car and now he's in Memorial in intensive care.'

'Shit, how is he?'

'Stable, so far as I know, but I haven't exactly been free to wander in and pay my respects. So I brought Hutch here and I was tryin to handle it on my own. That's how I got this' Starsky indicated his nose 'when Hutch jumped me and tried to get away. He keeps sayin' that Sal's his friend and that Sal is the only one he can trust.'

Traff nodded thoughtfully. 'Who's Sal?'

'Salvador Milano, the leader of the Cougars.'

'Well, he's obviously been brainwashed.'

'Ya think?' Starsky snorted. 'Thing is what do I do about it? He won't let me anywhere near him.'

'I don't think you're in a position to do anything Curly. You're about the only one who can't help him, and I don't think I'm in a much better position either. I'm too close to him and to you, I wouldn't have his trust.'

'So what?'

Traff looked thoughtful. 'I've seen this kinda thing before with kids coming back from Asia. They've usually been worked on in order to infiltrate their own units. There is one guy at the base hospital. He's a shrink, but not in the usual white coat mold. If I speak to him, he might be just the kind of guy who can help.'

Starsky sighed. 'You know what we both think of shrinks, but right now I'm clear out of options. Do you need to call him? There's a phone down at reception. And how do we get Hutch to the base? He's hardly likely to let me drive him anywhere. He'd probably accuse me of tryin' to drive him over a cliff.'

'Let's deal with one problem at a time huh? Let me go and make the call and then we can discuss logistics. It'd probably be best if Hutch came with me and you tagged along.'

The brunet cop shrugged and rested back on the sofa as Traff went out to make the call. He longed to go back into the bedroom and check on Hutch, but he didn't want to face any more of the stinging jibes or vicious accusations from his partner. They were too close to ignore and yet deep down, Starsky knew that it wasn't really Hutch yelling and shouting, but instead it was something that had been implanted in the blond's head. Starsky argued with himself for some time. He'd hated subduing Hutch again and had felt that the blond was in pain but finally, he got up from the chair and carefully opened the door to the bedroom.

It was quiet and walking softly, Starsky tiptoed to the bed. Hutch was fast asleep, his golden head resting in the crook of his arm, his right hand outstretched as though reaching for Starsky. For long seconds the brunet looked down fondly at his buddy. _Things are gonna be just fine again Blintz. You'll see, We'll get through this like we've gotten through everythin' else._ On impulse, Starsky reached out a hand and tenderly ran his fingers through the flaxen, silky bangs of hair. Hutch stirred but didn't wake and quietly, Starsky let himself out of the bedroom again. _Things will be fine Davey boy. You'll see. He'll be fine now Traff knows someone who can help._

The brunet cop said it to himself as much to calm his own nerves as anything. He was so shaken and so raw from what Hutch had told him that he found himself wondering and arguing with himself. Would it be ok? Could they actually recover from all this? And more to the point, would Starsky always question whether those poisonous things Hutch said were truly implanted, or whether there was a smattering of truth in them? David Starsky had gone through a lot in his 28 years and he'd never before allowed his indomitable spirit to falter – until now. For the first time in his life, he felt the weight of doubt. For the first time in their six year partnership, Starsky found himself wondering whether Hutch would still want him as a partner……or indeed, whether he would still want Hutch.

The curly haired cop's machinations were interrupted by Traff's return. The soldier strode into the room and rubbed his hands together. 'Cheer up, Curly boy. The cavalry has arrived. I've spoken with Bob the psychiatrist and he says to bring Hutch around to the base right now.'

Starsky looked up. 'Can he help him?'

'Dunno till we get there, but he's a good man and he's had a lot of success with the guys I was telling you about. Some of them came back from Korea so fucked in the head that they've have sold their own mothers for dog meat. Give him a chance Dave. If Bob can't help, no one can.'

'That's what I'm afraid of' Starsky grunted as he got up to go to the bedroom. A work roughened hand held him back. 'Hold on Chief. I don't think it's a real good idea you goin' in there again. Do you? I mean, from the looks of you both, I don't think either of you'd survive another round of slogging it out.'

'I gotta do sumthin Traff. I feel so fuckin' useless otherwise.'

The dark haired soldier nodded and smiled. 'I know Curly. But we both want to get Hutch right, and right now that means getting him to the 8th Battalion with as few traumas as possible. If Blondie comes with me in my car, you can follow on.'

'But….'

Traff held up his hand. 'No "buts". This is how it's gonna be. Now make yourself scarce while I collect Hutch. Pay the check, clear the room and meet me back at the hospital wing, ok?'

Starsky straightened at the authoritative tone of his buddy's voice. Cheekily he snapped a salute and stood to attention. 'Sir, yes Sir' he grinned tiredly.

'Uh huh. Who was a Major?' Traff asked.

'I was' Starsky replied.

'And who's a Lieutenant Colonel?'

'Don't rub it in! Go get the Blintz while I deal with the room huh?' the brunet grunted, glad of the little bit of friendly banter – something he and Hutch usually thrived on, but which had been in short supply of late. He set to and started to tidy the room as Traff went into the bedroom. Starsky heard the sounds of voices and minutes later, the door opened again and the soldier reappeared with Hutch in tow.

The blond cop looked shattered. His face was pale, almost grey and his hair mussed and dirty. Dark rings circled his eyes and his pallor was emphasised by the bruise on his forehead, peeping out from under the white dressing Starsky had so carefully taped in place. As the tall man got to the front door of the cabin, he stumbled slightly and without thinking, Starsky lurched forward to catch him and save him from falling.

Hutch righted himself and pulled his arm away from his partner's grasp. 'Get your filthy hands off of me' the blond snapped.

Starsky recoiled, his hand snapping back and the brunet looked to Traff for support and guidance.

'Just back off for now' the soldier said quietly and put his hand on Hutch's shoulder, guiding him to his car. Stunned, Starsky stood just inside the doorway and watched as the two men got settled and Traff drove off down the hill.

Twenty minutes later, with the room tidied and the bill paid Starsky got into Huggy's loaned Caddy and followed on. He knew the road to the base well. When he and Traff had come back from Vietnam, he'd been stationed there for a while before getting out of the Army and swapping khaki for black to train to be a cop. As he drove, Starsky prayed that this Bob person would be able to help. He felt lost without his friend. Hutch was his soul mate, which made the vicious words all the harder to bear. With Dobey out of commission too, he could think of no one to turn to. Sure, he knew there was a mole and it was someone in IA, but he had no specifics and had no idea who else he could trust. As for going to the Feds….they were the ones who'd messed up in the first place. If they'd listened to Starsky's fears for Hutch's safety, none of this would ever have happened. Starsky could only wonder what Markham and Chun were doing right now.

The base was inland a little and as he got to the perimeter gates, the brunet slowed, stopping at the double wire fence while the sentry bent to look into the car.

'Dave Starsky. I'm here to see Lieutenant Colonel Trafford. He's expecting me.'

The soldier checked on his clipboard, made a phone call and then looked in through the car window again.

'Colonel Trafford is waiting for you in the hospital wing. That's….'

Starsky sighed. 'It's ok, Private, I know where it is. Thanks.'

Eventually, the curly haired cop drew up outside a long, low single storey building and got out of the car. He stretched his aching back muscles and walked wearily towards the entrance where Traff was waiting for him.

'Where is he?' Starsky asked immediately.

'Bob has taken him through to an interview room. He wanted to see him right away.'

'Well where do we wait?'

Traff took a deep breath. 'I wait here Curly. You wait back at my house. Bob says he'll see you tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow? No, I need to see him and Hutch now, This Bob don't know shit about what's…..'

The soldier took Starsky by the shoulders and gently forced him back a step. 'Bob's fine and so is Hutch. He's a professional, Curly. He's dealt with this kind of thing countless times. Let him work his mojo huh? You can see him in the morning. Right now, you need peace and quiet and a good nights sleep. You look all in.'

The brunet nodded. In truth he was dead on his feet, only sheer will power keeping him upright. He nodded, but then sighed. 'It may have escaped your notice, but we're both wanted men. I can't just go back to my place.'

'Weren't you listening? I said you could use mine. I'm working anyway, so I'll be in and out. Make yourself at home. It's on the base, it's as safe as you're gonna get, and it's better than a lot of the places we've kipped over the years.' Traff handed his buddy a set of keys.

'Where's Hutch gonna sleep?'

'Here. Bob has a place for him where he can be monitored day and night.'

'You make it sound like a prison' Starsky said with a snort.

'Believe me. I'd like to see your average prisoner make it out of one of Bob's wards. Hutch'll be fine. It's you I'm worried about. Go. Get some sleep and I'll see ya later.'

'But….'

Traff grinned. 'Do I have to make it the second order in as many hours?'

Starsky was too tired to smile back, but his humour hadn't entirely departed. 'I'd like to see ya try. Wake me when you get home huh?'

'Sure thing Chief' Traff responded with absolutely no intension of honouring the request.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

'So? What's your assessment?' Traff stood looking though the two way mirror at Hutch, who was sitting impassively in the small examination room next door. He'd had a few hours sleep, had been given drinks and some food and had even taken a shower. Now he looked clean and tidy in his white scrubs, but pale, his eyes still dark ringed and holding a haunted, far off look.

'He's been put through the mincer mentally and it's gonna take some time and some patience to get him back.' Bob Tyler, the psychiatrist came to stand by the soldier. He'd seen a lot in his professional career, but this looked as though it was going to be a tough case to crack. 'I've given him a thorough physical examination and he tolerated it well. He's basically in excellent physical condition although a little dehydrated and hungry. I've taken x-rays of his skull to check for any damage caused by the bullet wound and fortunately there aren't any underlying injuries – just the cut on his forehead which was dealt with, you say, by his friend. Other than that, I found evidence of a broken leg that is well healed. I'd say it was maybe a sporting injury from years ago and a more recent injury to his right hand, again, well healed. He has some bruises and healing cuts on his torso and back and evidence of a broken rib that's healing well, leading me to believe he was maltreated for a while too, but nothing really significant.'

'That's all well and good Bob. Great that he's fit, but can you help him get back to how he should be. I mean, you've dealt with some real screwballs in your time. Can you help Hutch?'

'He means that much to you, does he?'

'He does, yeah. And so does his partner. We've been through some pretty tough stuff together. So tell me straight, can you fix him?'

Tyler thought for a moment. He was a smallish man, rotund and with a friendly, open face from which shone deep brown boot button eyes. Never given to displays of too much emotion, he was a perfect man to become a psychiatrist. He had an air of calm which seemed to cling to him, a wacky sense of humour and the ability to put just about anyone at their ease. He was well liked on the base and was the best in his field. And he was not given to making promises he couldn't keep.

'I'll give it to you straight Tom. I can find traces of toxins in his system, so whoever had him has used drugs at some point, but his reactions to bright lights and loud noises lead me to believe he's been brainwashed the good, old fashioned way.'

'Which means?'

'Which means we can do a lot to reverse the effects of drugs. Most toxins have anti toxins, but the mind is a delicate instrument. I'll give it my best shot, but at the end of the day, a lot of it will be down to him.'

'Starsky, his partner, will want to see him' Traff said, scratching his head.

'No. Absolutely not. If I'm to make any headway with Hutch, he needs to be kept away from any stimulus which might remind him of his maltreatment – and that includes the man he was programmed to hate and kill. I don't even want you here Tom. Apart from anything else, I don't think you'll like the treatment. It isn't going to be pretty.'

Traff swallowed hard. 'Why? I don't understand. You've got him in the hospital don't you? How bad can it get?'

Bob drew Traff away from the observation window. 'I won't lie to you. The only treatment I've had any success with in cases like his is to emulate the original treatment he received, but in this case, reinforce the correct memories and try to over write the original brainwashing. In effect, we'd be brainwashing him back to his old self, with everything that entails.'

The soldier looked uncomfortable. 'I dunno Doc. I hate the sounds of this. You sound like you're gonna be torturing him all over again.'

Tyler shook his head. 'I'd never resort to that, but like I said, it's not pretty. We will be reducing his sleep to virtually nil, although unlike the group who had him, we will be allowing him food and water. But he will be forced to exercise and he'll be questioned about his beliefs constantly. We will need him to confront his altered views of his partner and then it will be for his own mind to sort out which he will believe and which he will cast aside.'

'Wow. I had no idea' Traff said softly. 'How long? I mean, how long will it take to…..ya know…..'

The psychiatrist shrugged. 'How long is a piece of string? It'll take as long as it takes, always assuming that we can restore his mind to how it used to be.'

'And um….if you can't?'

'Then his partner should be prepared for the worst' Tyler said grimly.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The bed was large, soft and incredibly warm. The mattress wrapped itself around the weary brunet as though he were back in the womb and gratefully he pulled the downy soft blankets up around his ears and surrendered to the embrace of the feather pillows. Traff's house was large as befitted his rank, untidy, as befitted a bachelor and had a delicious scattering of Playboy magazines, "Fast Car Weekly" and "Wine Buyers Guides". It was, however, just like Traff that the living room and kitchen were plain and as utilitarian as any military base place was likely to be while the bathroom and bedroom were decked out like a millionaire's mansion.

Starsky had let himself into the dark house, had tossed the keys down on the coffee table and headed for the bathroom. After the plain brown sofa and chair, the scratched wooden coffee table and the old lamp in the corner, the shock of the deep blue bathroom was mind altering. Whatever went on in the public spaces of Traff's house, it didn't hold a candle to the opulence of the bathroom. Military issue faucets were replaced with up to the minute models straight out of "America's Rich and Famous". The standard porcelain had been replaced by a double sized tub, a shower which could accommodate all of Hugh Heffner's playgirls at one sitting and one wall was entirely mirrored.

The brunet snorted softly, turned on the hot water and stood beneath the stream, luxuriating in the warmth and the comfort until he realised he was in danger of falling asleep on his feet. Reaching for the Pierre Cardin soap, he quickly washed, reluctantly turned off the water and rubbed himself dry before padding across the hall and into the bedroom. Without pyjama pants, and without the energy to rummage through Traff's wardrobe, Starsky decided naked was probably the simplest way to go

Here in the bedroom too, Traff's idea of off duty amounted to an oversized bed dressed with fragrant white sheets, deep green blankets and a deep, moss green comforter. The carpet was thick, the walls decorated with tasteful artwork and the furniture obviously from the orient.

Starsky had just enough energy to climb into the bed and pull the blankets up around his head before sleep finally overtook him. It was the first time in over two months that he'd managed to relax totally. It wasn't that he felt complacent, just that he was more tired than he could ever remember being and he was happy that Hutch was finally being treated by an expert. Although he'd not met Bob Tyler, Starsky felt that if Traff trusted the shrink, then he could too.

The clock on the bedside table ticked quietly, lulling Starsky's senses into a deeper sleep. One by one his muscles relaxed and he became absorbed in his dreams of desert islands, cool breezes and palm fringed white beaches.

So fast asleep was the curly haired cop that he didn't hear the front door of the house open. Neither did he hear the door to the bedroom creak on it's hinges as it was softly opened. A shadowy shape insinuated itself into the room and paused by the side of the bed, looking down at the mop of unruly brown curls which was the only part of Starsky that could be seen above the sheets.

The figure paused and then carried around to the opposite side of the bed. The woman smiled to herself, thinking about the sleeping man. She'd been away on manoeuvres for the past seven months and now that she was back on base she was looking forward to some manoeuvres of a completely different variety.

Undressing carefully, the tall, slim blond woman divested herself of her panties and threw them onto the heap with the rest of her clothes and swiftly got under the sheets of the bed. The man didn't move and she quietly spooned herself into the back of him, pushing her breasts into his back. She was rewarded by a low moan and she smiled to herself, remembering other nights of hot passion in this very bedroom.

A little miffed that the moan was the only reaction she got to her advances, the woman's arm snaked across Starsky's flank and worked its way southwards until she could feel his heat. Gently she stroked the soft silky flesh with her fingers, sighing as she felt the rod respond to her touch. Despite the arousal, however, the man remained stubbornly asleep and so she took a firmer grip and began to slowly massage up and down the shaft, rimming the tiny entrance before stroking again.

In his dreams, Starsky lay on his back on the sun soaked beach. As he looked up he saw a beautiful woman looking down at him and he smiled as she lay down beside him and cuddled up close. The brunet put his arm around her, but she pushed him back down.

'Lay back. Relax. Let me do this for you' the woman whispered into his ear and without another thought, Starsky surrendered to her wandering hands.

He felt practiced fingers circle his manhood and he sighed in anticipation as the first stirrings in his loins told him that Little Davey was most definitely awake. He moaned slightly as the blood rushed to the centre of his body and he felt the familiar tightness in his groin, The fingers were now replaced by a full hand that stroked him from tip to base and back again and still, the woman wouldn't let him touch her. Not that he wanted to. Starsky was boneless, his body so utterly relaxed that even if she'd taped a grenade on his shaft, he'd have smiled happily and waited for the explosion.

In fact, that's' exactly what he was doing right now. the hand had picked up pace and was now rubbing harder and with more insistence. Starsky wanted to tell the woman to slow down, but he hadn't the energy to speak, but as he felt his balls tighten and pull up into his body ready for the familiar spillage, he managed to whisper her name.

'Mmmmnnnnnn Suzi……'

The girl in the bed stopped her ministration, but not soon enough to avoid the brunet's offering spilling over her wrist. She withdrew her hand in shock and grasped the man's shoulder, rolling him over until she could see his face. To her horror, the curly brown hair belonged not to Tom Trafford, one of her one night stands, but to a complete stranger, albeit one who looked remarkably similar to Traff.

With a shriek, she shot out of bed, gathering up her clothes and headed out of the bedroom as Starsky rolled back onto his side with a beatific smile on his face. 'S'nice' he mumbled as he drifted back to sleep.

Outside, the woman clambered back into her clothes in record time and fled for the door just in time to see the front door open and Traff walk in.

'Gabriella! How're ya….' His question was stopped abruptly as the woman stepped up to him and slapped him smartly across the face.

'Hey Gabby! What the…..'

'You should tell me the next time you have a visitor. Stay away from me' she snapped and stalked out of the door.

'Yes ma'am' the soldier muttered as it slowly dawned on him what had happened. He closed the door softly, with a grin and peeped into his bedroom.

'Sleep well ya lucky dog' he whispered and went to make coffee.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

'I don't know what you want me to say.'

'The truth. I want you to tell me the truth.'

'I am telling you the truth, but ya just won't fuckin' listen!' Hutch stopped his ragged pacing and looked angrily at Bob Tyler. This had been going on for two days now and the blond cop's resistance was wearing away quicker than a wave runs through sand.

'I'm listening' Bob said calmly. 'I'm just not sure you understand the question.'

Hutch leaned wearily against the wall of the large room he'd been kept in for the past 48 hours. It was a featureless room of perhaps 25' by 15'. Its walls were a pale cream colour with a cream and green chequer board effect tiled floor. The one and only door was recessed into the wall so that when it was closed it was almost invisible. There was no door furniture on the inside. Only one, small camera lens, fitted deep into the upper corner of the room showed that there was likely to be a world outside the confines of his prison. There were no windows which made Hutch feel detached from the real world. He had no idea whether it was morning, noon or night and the only break in the monotony of his existence was the occasional drink of water, or almost cold coffee and the three small meal per day and the twice per day he was escorted down the short corridor to the bathroom. The meals were nutritious, but bland and devoid of colour or interest, designed to give the patient nothing upon which to fix his attention other than the questions fired at him constantly.

Hutch's heart hammered in his chest. This was meant to be a hospital wasn't it? He was meant to be getting treatment, although he couldn't for the life of him think what for. He wasn't sick and he hadn't been injured, but Traff had brought him here and at least he was away from Starsky.

David bloody Starsky! They asked about him day and night. They pounded Hutch with question after question. Always the same – who are your friends? Who do you trust? Do you remember good times? Can you remember feeling safe? Who was it with?

The flaxen haired cop pushed himself off from the wall again and continued his ragged stumbling around the perimeter of the room. He seemed more like a caged animal than a human being. They'd taken away his day clothes and given him white scrubs to wear. They too seemed to leach away his personality until he was a white shape moving inside the pale room. Hutch scrubbed at his hair with his fingers, wishing he could rest and sleep for a while. How long had it been since he slept? He couldn't remember, but this hospital seemed so different from the others.

In other hospitals he'd had the misfortune to be in, they constantly fought to keep him asleep, even waking him up to give him more sleeping pills. Here, however, they wouldn't let him rest. Whenever Bob left, another nurse or doctor would come in, settle himself comfortably on a chair and continue the questioning seamlessly, so that Hutch had neither the time, nor the energy to fight back.

At first, he'd tried to answer their questions reasonably.

'Who are your friends?' – 'Traff, Sal, Dobey, Huggy.'

'Who do you trust?' – Traff, Sal, Dobey, Huggy.'

'Do you remember good times?' 'Sure. I like to go to the Pits. We have drinks there.'

'Who is "we"?' – Me and St…..I go with different people.'

'Can you remember feeling safe?' – 'Yeah'

'Who was it with?' – 'Sal Milano.'

It all seemed so straightforward and yet the answers never seemed to satisfy the people who asked him the same things over and over again. Whatever he seemed to say to them, it wasn't right and so Hutch started to get angry.

'Who are your friends?' – 'I dunno. Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse.'

'Who do you trust?' – 'What the hell kinda question is that? Who do you trust?'

'Do you remember good times?' – 'Sure. Anywhere that aint here. I need to get out. You have no right to keep me here. Let me out. I'm a cop, you can't keep me here. That's kidnap.'

They ignored his rants. 'Can you remember feeling safe?' – 'Fuck it'

'Who was it with?' – 'I'm not answering any more.'

Then there would be a break. Hutch was even getting used to the lukewarm coffee. It didn't taste bad, it just wasn't hot. He supposed it was served that way so that he didn't hurt himself or anyone else, but before long the break was over. Once or twice, Hutch would put his head down on his folded arms on the table, longing for sleep, but whoever was with him would gently shake him awake and stand him up. And then they'd start again.

'Who are your friends? Who do you trust? Do you remember good times? Can you remember feeling safe? Who was it with?'

Now, after 48 hours of almost non stop questioning, Hutch's brain was closed down to just those few words. They echoed round and round in his head. They were the only words he'd heard for days and he felt sick to his stomach. His head pounded, his eyes felt as though they hadn't closed in years and his legs were rubbery and weak.

'Just tell me what ya want me to say. I'll say anythin' ya want. Just need t'sleep' he muttered.

'I want you to tell me who your friends are' Bob asked calmly.

'I told you already. I dunno what you want me to say.'

'I want you to tell me who they are.'

'Traff, Sal, Dobey, Huggy' Hutch mumbled, the litany the same as it had been for days.

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah….no…..dunno. I need t'sleep. Let me sleep an' I can think more clearly.'

'You can sleep when you answer the question. Who are your friends?'

'I'VE FUCKIN' TOLD YA' Hutch yelled. He turned and battered his fists against the wall, desperate to escape this cream coloured prison. When red smudges of blood marred the clean cream wall, Bob got up slowly and grasped Hutch's hands, saving the blond from further damaging himself. The psychiatrist looked into the red rimmed eyes with compassion and calm.

'Is Traff your friend?'

Hutch stopped struggling and rested his head back against the wall. 'Yeah, course.'

'And Huggy?'

'Uh huh.'

'And Dobey?'

Hutch nodded wearily. 'He's my Captain, but he's my friend too.'

'What about Sal? Are you really sure about him?'

The blond closed his eyes. A resounding "no" hovered on his lips although he couldn't think why. He thought hard for a moment and visions of needles, and cigarettes being put out on his chest, and loud noises filling his ears vied with a happy smiling bald head. Sal. Sal was his friend, wasn't he? He'd said he was Hutch's friend. He was his best friend wasn't he? Another face appeared in his head - a handsome, olive toned face, surrounded by unruly chocolate coloured curls. The face smiled at him and impossibly deep blue eyes twinkled mischievously.

'What did you say?' Hutch asked, distracted by his own memories.

'I asked whether you were sure Sal was your friend.'

'Sal? He um…no….I mean, yeah. Friend? He's um…..yeah, he's my friend' the blond mumbled falteringly. His head told him he should be sure about this, but his heart told him another story entirely.

'Is there anyone else who's your friend?' Bob pushed.

'Yeah…..no. I dunno. I'm tired. Lemme sleep. I can't think, you won't let me think' Hutch muttered, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes.

'I don't want you to think. When I ask the question, tell me the first name that comes into your head.'

'Fine. Whatever. Can I sleep afterwards?'

'Sure you can. So tell me. Don't think, just answer without thinking. Is there anyone else who is your friend?'

'Starsky.' The word was out of Hutch's mouth before he'd had time to consider and it felt so right. The words "friend" and "Starsky" seemed to go together like salt and pepper or Laurel and Hardy.

'So Starsky is your friend too?' Bob asked quietly.

'NO' Hutch yelled and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest as he rested his forehead on his legs.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Starsky awoke and stretched his arms up, luxuriating in the warmth and comfort of the bed. His body felt heavy and relaxed and even the pain from his broken nose seemed more manageable. He glanced at the clock on Traff's bedside table and saw its fingers read 11:30. the light coming through the curtains told him it was morning and not night and with a satisfied sigh, the brunet slipped out of the bed, rummaged through Traff's wardrobe and dressed himself in borrowed jeans and tee shirt. As he headed along the small hallway and into the living room, Traff looked up from his seat on the sofa and smiled.

'My God, it's Rip Van Winkle. How're ya doin' Curly?'

'Good. Better. I feel like I've slept for a week.'

The soldier snorted. 'Almost. You went to bed on Tuesday. It's Thursday morning now. You were absolutely shattered.'

'You mean I slept for almost two days?'

'Well, you had an interesting diversion' Traff replied cryptically.'

'I had some full on dreams, if that's what ya mean. There was one….. well, I…. What? What did I say?' Starsky watched his buddy's face crease into laughter.

'It um…. that was no dream Curly boy.'

'Oh my God! You mean I……with a …… and she was…..'

'Gabrielle, uh huh. She was pretty pissed when she realised it was you and not me, but its satisfied one argument we've had over the years.'

'And that is?'

Traff grinned. 'Well she didn't notice any difference in um, size, so all your locker room shit over the years is redundant.'

Starsky grinned too and headed for the kitchen to make coffee. 'I'm glad I kept her happy. How's Hutch?'

There was an uncomfortable pause and the brunet poked his head around the kitchen door and fixed Traff with troubled eyes. 'How is he?'

'It's fifty fifty at the moment whether Bob can do anything or not and he isn't over confident. Whoever had him before, this Sal Milano guy was thorough. They had a full two weeks to work on him and they've used physical and chemical methods on him.'

'You mean Hutch was tortured?'

Traff shook his head. 'Not tortured exactly, but what he went through couldn't have been pleasant. On top of that, it's in his nature to be strong minded.'

'You don't need to tell me that. He's as ornery as a mule when he wants to be. It's kept him going through some bad shit before now.'

'Well that's the problem. Now Sal has implanted thoughts into Hutch's head, his obstinate nature is making it tough to overwrite them.'

Starsky sat down with a bump, his feelings of relaxation washing away quickly. 'You mean he could be left….we might never get back to normal?'

'I'm sorry Chief, but you deserved to hear the truth. It wouldn't be fair for me to lie and tell you everything was A1.'

'I know, and half of me was braced for it, but it's still scary to imagine life without…..' Starsky sighed and scratched his head thoughtfully.

'Hey, Bob's a clever guy. If anyone can….'

'Yeah, you said – he can. It's not Bob I'm thinkin' about, its my partner. Hutch is the wild card in all this.'

Traff got up from the sofa. 'Well I need to go back on duty. I'll drop in later and you, my friend should rest.'

Starsky nodded a goodbye to his buddy and when he was left alone, he looked around for the telephone. Dialling a number he knew by heart, Starsky listened to the ring tone tapping the fingers of his right hand on the table as his left hand curled around the mouthpiece.

When the phone was finally answered, he sighed at the familiar tones. 'Hug, it's me.'

'Starsky, my man. How's it hangin' there? How's the blond one?'

'I dunno. He's being treated, but they won't let me near. Hug have ya seen Dobey yet?'

'Sure. I've been twice. He's still in intensive care, but he's off the ventilator and he should be moved to a private room if he continues to improve. He's gonna make it.'

A rush of relief engulfed the brunet and he let out the breath he'd been holding. 'Thank God. Are ya seein' him again?'

'This afternoon, yeah. Why?'

Huggy, can ya give Edith this number and tell her to phone me to let me know she's ok' Starsky rhymed off the number of Traff's house. 'I'll be waiting for her call.'

'Take care' Huggy said finally.

'I will. You too. Oh, Hug….. have you got my wheels back from Merle's yet? I kinda miss my baby.'

Huggy paused before he made a careful reply. 'It's safe. Merle's um…..working on it. Listen my friend I need to go, see ya.'

'Huggy…..Hug, what d'ya mean he's….' Starsky stared at the phone, realising that Huggy had cut him off. '…..working on it. What the hell's he workin' on?' the brunet muttered as he walked off to finish making his coffee.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

'I need to see him. If I could see him maybe I could get through to him' Starsky looked pleadingly at Bob Tyler. The psychiatrist shook his head.

'I'm sorry Dave, I can't do that. It's been just over a week and we've made some progress. Admittedly it's not as much as I would have liked, but it's still progress of sorts.'

'So, if Hutch is making progress, why can't I see him? Does he remember me? I mean, does he remember me as a friend?'

'He's showing signs of getting there' Bob hedged, seeing the longing in the indigo eyes.

'Signs of…..You mean he still wants to kill me.' Starsky sat down heavily on the chair in the small interview room and looked back through the two way mirror at his partner. Hutch was sitting slumped in a chair of his own. He'd lost a little weight, but it was his eyes that had caught Starsky's attention when he'd looked for the first time at his partner. Hutch's face was pinched and drawn. He made a passable impersonation of a panda with huge dark rings around his eyes, stark against his pale complexion. 'He looks so sick' the brunet said quietly.

'Not sick, just exhausted' Bob assured him.

'Why? He's in your hospital. Aren't these places supposed to make ya better?'

'As a rule, yes, but the treatment we've had to use with Ken has had to be a little more um…..robust. Part of the over writing of his original conditioning entails keeping the brain from trying too hard to fight. There are two ways we can do that and one of them is to keep Ken on the verge of exhaustion. It sounds barbaric I know, but a tired brain shuts down to basics. When that happens, we can start to suggest things which will hopefully bring him back to the man you used to know.'

The cop scratched his head. 'Explain one thing to me Doc. I mean, they had him for two weeks max and yet they managed to do a pretty thorough job on him. How come you can't do the same?'

'Because they used a lot of um….persuasion too.'

Starsky nodded and swallowed hard. 'I saw the bruises and cuts when he took off his shirt. They hurt him, didn't they?'

'Pain is one of the stimuli, yes. But they also bombarded his senses with light and sound to keep him completely off balance. And whereas we will allow Ken to sleep for short periods, they will probably have kept him moving. I've heard of men being kept awake for up to a week, until they have auditory and visual hallucinations.'

The brunet paled. 'You said there were two ways. What's the other?'

Tyler looked calmly at the curly haired cop. 'Drugs. They used them on Ken when they brainwashed him.'

'What sort of drugs?'

'Truth serum mostly. They had to have got a lot of information about you in order to turn him so much against you.'

Starsky shook his head. 'No, no, no. I mean, when I was in 'Nam I had a couple of months with the Viet Cong. They used truth serum a couple of times on me and so far as I was concerned it didn't do nuthin other than make me damned tired. It don't work Doc.'

'No, not as such. But imagine that you haven't slept for 72 hours, you've been subjected to loud noises and bright lights in all that time and then you're strapped down and injected with something. He wouldn't know what he was doing. By that time, his brain would have been so much garbage and the serum would have been just what was needed to tip Ken over the edge.'

'So what now?' the brunet asked softly. He got up and stood by the mirror, his hands on the pane of glass as he looked longingly at Hutch. He'd missed his partner so much even though the blond had been so vicious with him at the end. Still, there was a friendship there that Starsky was willing to fight for till the end.

'We keep plugging away. Like I said, we've made some progress, but there's a hell of a long way still to go and you going in there will only muddy the waters.' Tyler crossed the room and put his hand on Starsky's shoulder. 'The best thing you can do son is to go back to Colonel Trafford's house and keep yourself safe, huh?'

Starsky nodded and reluctantly tore his attention away from the sight of his buddy, who was now slumped over, flaxen head resting on his folded arms on the table as he slept. 'Terrific. I go back and live in comfort while he goes through all this shit on his own. Great plan' he spat bitterly.

'I know it's tough on you, but right now, it's the only plan you've got' Bob said gently. 'Go home, rest and I'll keep on working with Ken. You'll see, something will happen.'

Starsky walked slowly from the room. He'd hoped and prayed that the shrink would somehow have a breakthrough with Hutch. He felt so alone without the blond there. Sure, they bickered and snapped at each other. They'd had disagreements, like all friends did, but they always resolved their differences. The brunet snickered to himself. Jeez, it was like he was talking about an old married couple instead of two detective sergeants. But that was how it felt – there was a familiar comfort to their friendship that made conversation easy. Hutch may be at his place and Starsky at Ridgeway, and yet the brunet knew he need only pick up the phone, no matter what time, and his buddy would be there for him. Like Hutch had said, no matter how unkindly, he'd called on the blond almost every night for three weeks when nightmares of Simon Marcus' goons plagued him.

God, he missed the conversation! He missed the friendship.

Traff had been called away to Houston on a job that would keep him out of town for a few days, and Starsky was feeling cabin fever. He'd been cooped up on the Army base now for over a week. He'd had the freedom of the base and had used the gym and the pool to keep himself fit and amused, but still, nothing compensated for having Hutch so near and yet so far away.

On impulse, Starsky looked at his watch. 6:30pm. Edith Dobey had telephoned last night to tell him that Harold was out of the intensive care unit and was progressing well. She'd said she would leave it till tomorrow to ring again and so, with nothing to wait in for, Starsky made a bid for a night of freedom. If he judged it right, he may just have enough time to go see Dobey for a few minutes and then get across town to the Pits without anyone seeing him. A night with Huggy might be just what the doctor ordered.

Walking back across the base to Traff's house, Starsky let himself in, grabbed a quick shower and dressed in some more of Traff's borrowed clothes, thankful that they shared not only the same measurements, but also the same taste. Dressed in dark blue jeans and a pale blue hooded sweater with a zipped front, similar to one he already had, Starsky finger combed his hair into place, took the car keys from the hall stand and drove away into the rapidly darkening night.

Three quarters of an hour later, the curly haired cop drove up the ramp and onto the parking lot of Memorial hospital. Drawing into a space, he switched off the engine and looked up at the multitude of windows, all lit with honey coloured light, like a uniform star constellation. The constellation "Memorial", he mused, as he got out of the car with one hand on the door handle.

Something, however, made him cautious. He'd spent over a week holed up in the Army base. Before that, the Cougars had taken all that trouble to work on Hutch and to try to kill Starsky. They'd also tried to assassinate Dobey and the mole was still at large. It didn't take a genius to work out that the mole knew that Starsky and Hutch were onto him. It also didn't need Einstein to figure out that if the mole was so worried as to try to eliminate the police Captain, he be pissed as hell that he hadn't managed, and would be on the look out for other ways to preserve his anonymity. Starsky reasoned that if he were in the mole's position, he would probably be keeping a lookout for Starsky, Hutch, or some way to finish Dobey and the hospital seemed the prime site.

Looking around him, Starsky saw nothing out of the ordinary and snorted at his own jumpiness, but still, he got himself back into the car and locked the doors. Was he paranoid? Or was he just being careful? Care had always kept him and his partner alive before and now the brunet cautiously looked around the parking lot. There were hundreds of cars parked up and in the dark, he couldn't make out if they were empty or not. He was torn between seeing his Captain again and not blowing his cover and for long minutes, he argued with himself before finally sighing heavily, starting up the engine and driving away.

In the parking lot, Officer Simmonetti saw the curly haired cop get out of the car and look around. For a moment, he'd fingered his gun, ready to take his chance, but Starsky seemed on edge and before Simmonetti had managed to get a clear shot, Starsky had got back into his car. Not the usual Torino, but a cream coloured Cadillac that Simmonetti had never seen before. As it pulled out into the road, the IA mole, started his own car engine and followed at a discrete distance as Starsky drove across town and pulled into a back alley, parking in front of a back door to a club, or a bar of some sort.

Simmonetti paused a moment, ensuring that Starsky was well and truly inside the bar. It was almost 9:30 and likely to be busy inside and so the IA officer got out of his own vehicle and poked his head around the door.

Inside, the Pits was jumping. Music played loudly and there was a crowd around the pool table, while still more people crowded onto the dance floor beneath the ever changing lights of the disco machine. The music had a heavy drum beat to it and as Simmonetti looked around, he saw Starsky's unmistakable back as the brunet cop leaned on the bar and spoke with a gaunt black man.

Making his way around the perimeter of the dance floor, Simmonetti threaded his way through the hot bodies and to the small corridor leading to the washrooms. There was a sign in red neon advertising the fact that there was a public telephone out back and he fished a dime from his pocket, took the receiver and dialled a number, waiting for the other phone to pick up.

When it did, he curled his hand around the mouthpiece, keeping his voice low, while his eyes scanned the room in case the curly haired cop came into view.

'Milano. I've found Starsky…….no, the blond one isn't with him, he's on his own………well he's bound to know where Hutchinson is……….no, not on my own, you need to send someone down here…………the Pits bar…………you can't miss it…………Radio is coming? Great. Tell him Starsky is driving a cream coloured Cadillac, it's parked out back, and tell him to take it easy, we want him in a state where we can question him, right?'

Simmonetti put down the phone, glanced into the main room again and melted into the background after making sure Starsky was still at the bar.

The brunet himself was completely unaware of the sighting. Starsky was enjoying himself with Huggy Bear, feeling that this was just what he needed to break the tension of the past week. The edginess he'd felt on Memorial's parking lot melted away and for a while, Starsky allowed himself to smile and laugh and have a little light relief.

'So when is Merle gonna be done with my baby?' he asked.

Huggy looked away. 'He um…..he likes to do a thorough job, you know Merle.'

'But you told him just a tune up, didn't ya?' Starsky pushed.

'Yeah, I told him' Huggy answered truthfully.

'Great. So why is he taking so long?'

'Who knows? You never ask a maestro to explain himself!'

The conversation continued to flow until at last the brunet drained his drink, put the glass down on the counter top and waved a quick goodbye to the barman. Starsky pushed open the door and walked out into the cool and quiet of the evening. With a small sigh he got back into the Caddy, wishing it was his Torino. He started the engine and set the car in motion as a black panel truck eased its way down the alley in pursuit.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Hutch paced the large room like a caged golden cat – a puma with flaxen fur. He'd been here longer than he could remember and still the only things he was asked were about his friends. His mind roiled with confusion. On the occasions he'd been allowed to sleep, he dreamed the most vivid and sometimes violent dreams of the men he knew. In those dreams, the two men he was asked about most of all – Salvador Milano and David Starsky fought continually. For the most part, in those dreams, Hutch was a bystander, watching the fist fights, the beatings and the wounds appearing on the two men's bodies without any attempt to interfere. He felt ambiguous as to who should win those fights. Sometimes the curly headed man was victorious and sometimes the man with the bald head. When that happened, and Starsky lay dead at Sal's feet, Hutch felt an uncomfortable ache set up in his chest and on those occasions, he awoke sweating and shaking, and yet he couldn't bring himself to admit that David Starsky was his friend. Sal had told him otherwise and it was easier to think that Sal was right.

The only thorn in Hutch's side was that Bob Tyler seemed to think differently and Hutch was getting to the stage where he wondered – did he feel that Starsky wasn't his friend because that was the truth, or because he was determined not to give in to the psychiatrist. Hutch was so damned exhausted though, that his brain refused to think on any intellectual level. Instead, he had just enough energy to answer the questions monosyllabically and to plead for sleep.

Right now was one of the times when he'd been given the chance to rest and as he closed his eyes, Hutch's mind showed him a picture of Starsky, laughing as he strutted across a road towards his red and white Torino and a part of the blond snapped.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Starsky drove quietly, the night with Huggy having made him feel more mellow and relaxed than he had done in while. The black barman was a good friend, although not quite the same as Hutch, but the company had been far better than if Starsky had stayed on the Army base, pacing Traff's living room as he had done for the past five nights.

The dark city flashed by him and he pulled to a halt at an intersection showing a red light. Looking into the Caddy's rear view mirror, Starsky saw a set of headlights slowing down behind him. The light turned to green and he pulled away again, leaving the panel truck that looked dark if not black to follow on. It meant nothing to the blond. At that time of night it was still fairly busy in the city centre and there were all sorts of traffic around on the roads, but as Starsky started to drive up the on ramp onto the freeway, he checked his mirror again and saw the same truck. Something in the back of Starsky's mind started to itch and gently, he pressed his sneakered foot harder onto the gas pedal, watching the needle on the speedo move around the dial to 60 and then 65. If the truck was an innocent vehicle, he would leave it behind fairly quickly, but after a minute, Starsky checked again to see the headlights still obstinately in his mirror.

With his heart beginning to hammer in his chest, Starsky took a harder grasp of the steering wheel and settled himself back into the car seat. This was a tail and he was gonna loose it, no matter what.

Pushing his foot to the metal he checked in the mirror again.

'Let's see what ya got' Starsky muttered under his breath as the speed hit 75.

The freeway was still busy and Starsky didn't have his mars light with him. Apart from that he wasn't legitimately a cop tonight and as he started to speed up the cars around him started flashing their headlights and sounding their horns at the crazy man speeding in their midst. Starsky nursed the big cream coloured car between the lanes, taking spaces where they presented themselves and causing more and more horns to blare at him as his speed rose and his chances became less.

Behind him, the big black truck also sped up and whoever was driving was as good as the curly haired cop. The two vehicles were now touching 85 miles per hour and in their break neck chase were passing other traffic on the freeway as though they were at a standstill. Ahead, Starsky could see a sea of red tail lights indicating some sort of blockage on the road. Desperately he looked around, wondering if he would be able to use the emergency lane to drive past then obstruction, unless an accident had occurred on it. As the road flashed by, Starsky suddenly remembered a small exit onto a minor road up ahead. It was a quiet back road and not well signposted but as he got almost level with the exit, he slewed the wheel hard right and with an alarming and impressive squeal of tires threw the Cadillac across the road, hitting the gravel at the side and sending a rain of pebbles across the other cars.

Keeping his speed up as much as he dared on the dark road, Starsk righted the vehicle and set off up the back road, but as he checked his mirror again he saw the headlights in the distance. Whether the driver had overshot, reversed and followed or made a last minute turn didn't matter – the brunet still had company.

'Shit' he spat and hurtled along the road. Behind him the panel truck seemed to be catching up, the headlights growing larger in the rear view mirror and Starsky cursed again.

'Don't a get this fuckin' thing tuned Hug? Who is this guy? Shit he drives like the devil!'

Squeezing every last ounce of power out of the big car, the brunet aimed the Caddy down the road, a cream coloured guided missile on a one way mission. Behind him, he could hear the roar of the big trucks engine getting closer and the brunet started to zigzag across the road in an attempt to stop the big truck from trying to overtake. The road was narrow and didn't give very much room for manoeuvre and Starsky prayed that he wouldn't meet anything coming the other way.

Twice the truck pulled up alongside and twice Starsky managed to get another mile pre hour out of the engine, pulling away, but on its third attempt it drew level with the Cadillac and slammed into the side of the big car, knocking it sideways. Starsky let out a yell and veered back onto the road just as the truck came at him again.

For a couple of miles the two vehicles played a deadly game of cat and mouse, first the Caddy pulling ahead and then the truck. It was always the truck drivers intention to run the car off the road and several times, the brunet came within a millimetre of running the vehicle into the ditch that ran alongside the dark country road. Each time, he managed to swerve back onto the blacktop and each time, the truck would be there again, ready to hit him once more.

Sweat was beginning to trickle into the brunet's eyes now, but he had no chance to take his hands off the wheel. Instead the salty fluid stung him and he shook his head to clear his vision as another tight bend came up too quickly. The Cadillac fishtailed into the curve, the truck close on its tail and Starsky overcompensated for the steering, throwing the back end of the car towards the ditch. The truck driver saw his chance and with a roar of extra power from his engine, he drew the truck up beside the car and flicked his wheel over.

There was the squeal of metal against bare metal as the truck and car collided and the two vehicles sped down the road side by side as though locked in some deadly tango dance. The power of the truck though, and the sheer added weight, finally overpowered the car.

Starsky yelled at the Caddy, screaming at the engine to pull harder and then the wheel was yanked from his hand and the car set into a sickening spin. The road had been climbing steadily higher and the ditch at the side of the road had developed into a hillside. In horror, the brunet felt the nearside tyres slipping off the blacktop, slipping on the loose dirt at the roadside. The cop felt himself loose control of the big car as it spun around and the back end started to slip down the hillside. For a moment, it hit a tree and its progress was halted, but only for a moment before the windshield was filled with a view of the stars and he felt the hood of the car tip back until the Cadillac did an elegant back flip, slid down the hillside and came to a shuddering halt on its roof.

For a moment, the wheel continued to turn against the empty air and the night sounds quieted until there was absolute silence. Then the horn of the Cadillac started to blare out and a plume of smoke broke out from under the hood.

Inside the car, David Starsky lay against the roof of the upturned car. He never wore seat belts, feeling they impeded his movements and now, his body was crumpled on top of him, while one leg was trapped between the steering column and the floor of the car. Blood filled his mouth and weakly he spat it out, pawing at the roof of the car in an attempt to get himself out. He managed to reach around and get a hand on the door handle, but he had no leverage to open it.

Pains assailed him, mostly from his left leg, the one that was trapped. His knee seemed to be wrapped in fire and each time he tried to move it, it sent shock waves up into his belly.

'Help' the brunet moaned weakly. 'Someone….help.'

He paused a moment, spitting out more blood stained saliva and his ears strained to hear any noise. For long moments there was silence and then he heard the first crackle of fire. Desperately, he pulled again at his left leg, screaming in agony as the pain threatened to tip him into unconsciousness. It was a choice now between frying to death or ripping off his leg. The leg won and Starsky managed to open the car door. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he managed to manoeuvre himself out of the car so that his body was lying on the grass and the he held his left leg with both blood stained hands and yanked with all his strength.

Starsky felt something give and a small movement from his left foot. With one final scream, he pulled again at his leg, ripping his jeans in the process as the foot finally came free. For a second, the brunet lay still, recovering his breath from the pain and the struggle, but he couldn't wait long. The first tongues of fire were beginning to lick at the hood of the car and with one final titanic effort, Starsky pulled himself a few yards away from the vehicle.

Looking own at his left leg, it was cut and bloody, but didn't seem broken. Instead, Starsky realised his kneecap wasn't in the usual place. Instead it seemed to have shifted a couple of inched further up his leg and each time he moved, the pain became intolerable. With a final pull, the pain finally overwhelmed him, and Starsky lapsed into unconsciousness, just as Radio climbed casually down the hill and stood a foot away from the brunet's body.

With a grin, the big goon reached down and picked the limp body up as though it were a rag doll, and slung it over his shoulder as he started to pick his way back up the hill to deposit Starsky in the back of the truck. Radio got into the drivers seat and picked up the mic, depressing the button.

'Radio to base. I've got him. On my way home now.'

'Is he damaged?'

The big man grinned. 'He's still in one piece – just.'


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

Tom Trafford pulled the bag from the back of his car, shouldered it and walked up the short path to his own front door. His job in Houston had been short, but intense. His speciality of bomb disposal sent him all over the world and he enjoyed the travel, but he was always happy to get back home to his friends and his home comforts. In the four days he'd been away, he constantly wondered what progress Hutch had been making and whether Starsky was bearing up under the strain. Before he'd jetted off, he made the impatient brunet swear that he wouldn't interfere with Bob's treatment, but knowing Curly as Traff did, there was always the nagging doubt that Starsky would barge in and suffer the consequences later.

As Traff pushed open the front door, he was surprised to find the house in darkness. Although only 9:00pm, he'd expected Starsky to be home, if only because the canteen on the base closed at 7:30 and Starsky refused to enter the officers club, his excuse being that he'd signed out of Army life and he wasn't one of those guys who lived on his rank for the rest of his life.

Walking into the hallway, the soldier flicked on the light and poked his nose into the living room. It too was empty and he was beginning to wonder whether everything was ok when the phone started to ring. He picked it up and a woman's voice, sounding very worried immediately spoke.

'David, is that you? Thank God. I was beginning to worry.'

Traff's heart rate hiked up a notch. 'This is Tom Trafford. Who am I speaking to?'

There was a pause and a sniff. 'This is Edith Dobey, Captain Harold Dobey's wife.'

'Is the Captain ok?' Tom asked quickly.

'Harold is doing well thanks. You're David's friend aren't you? The soldier?'

'The one and only ma'am. What can I do for you?'

'I've been trying to speak with David, but he hasn't been answering the telephone' Edith's voice had an edge of panic to it.

'Since when?'

'I phoned him four days ago and everything was fine. I said Harold would be coming out of intensive care that afternoon and I'd ring again in a couple of days. That was on Tuesday. I rang all day Thursday, but couldn't get an answer. I even telephoned close to midnight. I've been trying all today and still nothing. Have you seen him?'

Traff's heart rose into his mouth and his throat went dry. What the hell had happened now? Putting on his most professional, calm voice he spoke into the phone. 'I haven't seen him but I'm sure there must be a logical explanation. Let me make some enquiries on the base and I'll get back to you.'

'Will you? I'd feel so much better…… Harold was asking about both David and Ken.'

'Don't worry. As soon as I hear anything, I'll let you know.' Traff put the phone down and cursed. Starsky was wild on occasions, but not stupid. He knew the Cougars were still out there and would have been on the lookout both for him and Hutch. They knew too much for them to be left alone now. Jiggling the cradle, Traff dialled the number for the hospital wing and asked to be put through to Bob Tyler. There was a delay and then the psychiatrist's measured tones replied.

'Tyler.'

'Bob? Traff.'

'Hey! When did you get back?'

'About 15 minutes ago. Listen Bob, have you seen Starsky?'

'Uh huh. He was over here on Wednesday. I was explaining about Ken's treatment and he seemed uptight. I told him to go and relax and as I haven't seen him since, I hope he's been taking me at my word. Why?'

'Dunno, I have a bad feeling. I think he's missing, but I have a couple of other folks to ring first. How's Hutch?'

'About as well as can be expected. There are some signs of improvement.'

'But he isn't right?'

Bob sighed. 'Far from it, I'm afraid. This is gonna be a long job, but I'm not gonna give up on it. I haven't lost one yet, and I don't' aim to start with him.'

'I know Bob. If anyone can help Hutch you can. Listen, let me make some phone calls and I'll get back to you huh?'

'Will do' Tyler said, suddenly all business. 'And um……anything I can do….'

'Thanks Bob. See ya later.'

Traff put the phone down, the conversation having done nothing to allay his fears. He took his address book and looked up another number, drumming his fingers on the table as he waited for the phone to pick up. A moment later a woman's voice answered. 'Pits Bar. What d'ya want?'

'Huggy Bear.'

'If this is about the televisions…..'

'It's about his friend. Just get him for me honey huh?'

There was a brief pause and a yell and then Huggy's voice on the line. 'To whome am I speaking?'

'Hug, it's Traff.'

'Well halleluiah and praise me. Thank the Lord.'

'Either you've suddenly got religion, or you need to tell me something' Traff grunted.

'No to the first and a big, round, emphatic yes to the second. Hold a minute and I'll transfer this to somewhere where I can talk without a hundred ears listening in.' There was a click and a whir, silence and then the phone picked up again. 'You still there?' Huggy asked.

'Uh huh. Spill.'

'I've been worried sick and I've had no idea who to call. It aint exactly healthy to be friends with Starsky and Hutch right now.'

'Huggy!'

'Yeah, yeah, sorry. My nerves are still jinglin'. Starsky was in my bar two nights ago. He had a drink or two, kept a low profile. Nothing happened. Nada. Zip. But about 7:30 the next mornin' two flat foots pounded on my door and told me a cream coloured Caddy licensed to me had been found burning and upside down off the road leading up to Mandalay Heights. When they managed to put the flames out, they searched for a body and didn't find one.'

'That's the car Starsky was driving?'

'One and the same…..and just in case you missed it, my pride and joy.'

'they searched the area?' Traff asked quickly.

'They said they searched, but I went out there and did some snoopin' of my own. I also phoned the local hospitals to see if anyone had come in maybe with memory problems….. nothing. I know Hutch was undercover and I know Starsky was involved too. I also know Dobey got himself blown to smithereens. I've been wrackin' my brains for two days tryin' to think who to call. I've asked around….low key stuff, ya know, nothing to attract too much attention, but no one is talkin' even if they do know anythin'.'

Traff ran his hand over his eyes. 'You did the best you could Hug, thanks.'

'So, what now?'

The soldier sighed. 'Well, I guess there being no dead body is good news. If they'd wanted to stage Starsky's death, they would've left him in the car to burn. As to who has him, where he is, or what condition he's in…..'

'My thoughts too Bro. You want me to help?' Huggy asked, his voice earnest.

'Maybe. I need to get some things clear first, but if my gut feelings are right, I think there's only one man who can help. Whether he will or not is another question.'

'You mean….?'

Traff nodded to himself. 'Uh huh. Thanks Huggy. You did good. Now go back to the bar and act like nothing happened. I'll get back to you as and when.'

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

The basement was dark. It was warm, but it was dark and it was not the most pleasant place to be. The floor was hard and cool and there was no blanket or pillow or anything to soften it. The bare stone floor dug at Starsky's hips and elbows, adding their own discomforts to those he'd sustained from the "accident" on the road.

Radio had thrown the brunet's limp body into the back of the truck. He didn't bother to tie Starsky, or restrain him in any way. It would have been pointless and a waste of energy – the cop was going nowhere and Radio was a professional. There was blood around Starsky's head, adding to the bruises already surrounding his eyes and nose. Blood also seeped from a wound across the brunet's palm where a shard of glass had dug itself into the soft sensitive flesh. The jeans on his left leg were torn, although there was little blood there, but Starsky kept his leg stiff even though he was unconscious and it was obvious it had been injured in some way.

The goon drove quickly back down the hillside road and through the dark night to the old factory. Sal had told him he could hurt the cop, but somehow the crash hadn't given Radio the same satisfaction that slugging it out hand to hand with Starsky would have done. However, Sal's henchman was pretty sure he'd get the chance for some more sport when he got back.

Drawing up outside the huge building, he opened the doors at the back of the truck and hauled the still unconscious body out, slinging it over his shoulder to carry it into the factory. He walked straight through the hallway just as Milano opened the door to his office and down the steps to the basement. There, he waited while his boss descended into the warm dim room.

'Where do you want him boss?' Radio asked.

'In there. You can maybe encourage him to wake up. We need to get the both of them out of the way as soon as possible.'

The big man grinned, opened the door to the safe and walked inside, depositing the brunet none too gently onto the hard floor. Starsky groaned, but his eyes remained closed and Radio bent down and grabbed a hold of the cop's ear lobes, pinching them until blood trickled from the wounds caused by the man's thumb nails.

The effect was dramatic and Starsky writhed on the ground, a thin yelp escaping his lips as his eyes flew open and focused. Radio slapped the brunet across the face a couple of times until he was sure he had the cop's attention and then he stood back, waiting.

Starsky lay on the ground, trying to assess where he was and how injured he was. His head hurt and he felt sick to his stomach. His vision was blurry and he had a ringing in his ears which blocked out a lot of the other noises around him. He tasted blood in his mouth and licked at his split lip.

Further down his body, his stomach felt as though it had been hit by a freight train, but it was his left leg that gave him the most grief. Starsky tried to get himself into a sitting position, but by accident he tried to bend his knee and the pain almost made him pass out again. Despite his best attempts not to, he screamed and clutched at his knee, panting, his eyes closed until the agony subsided a little. When he opened his eyes again, Sal Milano was crouched down in front of him, his eyes boring into Starsky's.

'It's so good to see you again' Sal said pleasantly.

'Wish I could say the feeling was mutual' the brunet grunted through clenched teeth.

'Aww, you mean you aren't happy to be back? Maybe you'd feel better if that blond partner of yours was with you. Where is he?' Milano asked casually.

Starsky grinned, showing bloodied teeth. 'That's what this is all about? You want Hutch?'

'Give the man a bag of nuts and a balloon. He's just won first prize. And who was it who said cops were stupid?'

'Flattery will get ya everywhere.'

'So are you gonna tell me?'

'I'll tell ya when my Jewish Mom eats pork' Starsky sneered.

Sal shrugged. 'Funny. I thought you'd be difficult. Do you really want to play with Radio?'

'It wouldn't be my first choice, no.'

'Then tell me where I can find Ken. That's all I want to know.'

'Somewhere you'll never find him.'

'You know Sergeant, I'm impressed. I mean, it can't have been easy for you. He's not the man you used to know, is he? Did you like his new mindset? Did you find him completely disagreeable……cruel even?' Sal's eyes bored into Starsky's and for an instant he saw the hurt in the indigo depths before the cop recovered his composure.

'I don't know what you did to him, but he's fine again now. He's somewhere safe, where you can't get at him' Starsky said with a conviction he wasn't sure he felt.

'Really? It's amazing just how persuasive Radio can be. Let me give you an example…..Radio?'

The huge man lunged forward eagerly. Quick as a flash, he targeted Starsky's left leg and grasped the displaced knee cap, twitching it downwards. Starsky screamed, his lips drawn back from his teeth in an agony the likes of which he'd never felt. The pain seemed to go on for ever and at the end of it, he sucked a deep breath through his clenched teeth and stared defiantly back at Radio.

'Is that all you've got?' he panted insolently.

'Please, Sergeant, I hate to see a man suffering. Just tell me where your partner is and we can be done with this.'

'So that…..you can kill us?' the brunet gasped, his hands clenched around his dislocated knee.

'One step at a time. Now, before Radio here gets carried away, tell me where Ken is and save yourself some further discomfort' Sal said quietly.

In response, Starsky stared belligerently back. 'When hell freezes over' he snarled as Radio came at him again.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Starsky ducked as the fist came at him again. What was it with these creeps? Didn't they need any rest? Radio and Enzo certainly enjoyed their jobs and were thorough in the extreme. The fists came at him thick and fast and with the brunet's injured left knee stiff and swollen, he was unable to get up or even curl up to avoid the punches. They connected with every part of his body and he felt the bruises start to form across his back, chest, abdomen and limbs. A couple of times Starsky managed to block the blows, but that only seemed to infuriate the two turkeys and they came at him all the harder. The cop was also stubborn, and despite the pain of the assault, he refused to give up without a fight. He protected himself as best he could, but eventually even the defiance was insufficient and one of Enzo's blows caught Starsky across the cut he'd received from the car crash. Immediately, Starsky saw stars, his world turned red and finally, with almost a sigh of resignation, his eyes closed and his body toppled over to lie on his side on the ground.

The two heavies stopped immediately. It was pointless to carry on when their target was unresponsive and they stood back as Sal looked down at the bleeding body on the ground.

'Leave him there. When he comes around, his pain will argue with him for a while. After the treatment Ken has been giving him, I can't imagine anyone would want to protect his whereabouts. He'll sing when he comes around.'

Radio shook his head. 'I dunno Boss. They seemed pretty close.'

Milano snickered. 'If Enzo started telling you that you were a "no good motherfucker", would you want to protect him?'

The big man thought for a moment and finally shook his head. 'Guess not Boss. You know best.'

'And don't you forget it' Sal said.

'D'ya want us to secure him?' Enzo asked, looking at Starsky.

'I don't think so, he don't look like he's going anywhere. Just lock the gate and leave him down here over night. If the pain doesn't persuade him, thirst and hunger soon will. We can come and visit with him again in the morning.'

Enzo closed the safe gate with a deep metallic clang, checked the lock and then the three men walked up the basement steps, leaving Starsky alone in the dark basement to come to on his own.

A few hours later, the brunet stirred. Starsky had been dreaming and all of the dreams were uncomfortable in the extreme. Now, his eyes fluttered open and focused on the tiny barred window set high in the wall of the safe. It was no more than a token opening, maybe eight inches square, but it allowed a small shaft of light to pierce the gloom, illuminating the motes of dust floating down gently to the ground. It took a few moments to realise where he was, and when the memories returned, Starsky groaned softly and rolled onto his side before pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Carefully, he managed to manoeuvre himself until he could rest his bruised back against the cool wall of the safe, and he looked around him.

The room was divided into two, the main open part of the basement being partitioned from the safe by the sturdy metal bars and the huge padlock on the gate. It was pointless even trying to find a way out. Instead the curly haired cop concentrated on his personal circumstances.

He hurt – a lot and his head felt as though it would explode if he moved too quickly. He was nauseous and his vision was blurred and when he moved too quickly, he could see two of everything. Starsky felt exhausted. He knew without looking that his body was bruised, although after taking a couple of cautious breaths, he felt that nothing was broken in his chest. His knee, however, was something different. Starsky couldn't bend his left leg at all. The knee was swollen like a basketball and vaguely discoloured through the torn jeans leg. The brunet remembered the terrible pain he'd experienced when he'd tried to move it before and knew his kneecap was displaced, but there was little he could do about it now. It needed proper medical treatment and he snickered to himself. That was likely to be in pretty short supply.

As he was contemplating his predicament, there was a noise at the top of the stairs and footsteps on the wooden steps. A moment later, Radio and Enzo appeared outside the safe and the larger of the two men took out a bunch of keys and unlocked the gate. The two men descended on the brunet and grabbed him under his arms, hauling him to his feet.

Knocked off balance, Starsky desperately tried to keep his weight off of his left leg but Enzo and his buddy didn't seem to care about the swollen limb and the brunet couldn't bite back the gasp of pain as he was forced to limp between the two up the stairs, across the hallway and into the small office at the back of the factory. They dropped Starsky onto a hard wooden chair and secured his wrists to the arms with wire before they stood back.

Salvador Milano walked into the room and round to the front of the chair so that the cop could see him clearly.

'Did you sleep well?' Sal asked sarcastically.

Starsky said nothing and a moment later Radio slapped him hard across the face. Sparkles of red bloomed in the periphery of his vision and for a moment, the brunet considered throwing up on the goon's shoes. 'It's rude to ignore Mr Milano.'

The cop licked at the trickle of blood on the corner of his mouth and stared belligerently at the big man but remained silent.

'Ok, enough of the pleasantries then. Have you thought any more about my questions earlier?'

'I've been unconscious, so no.'

'Well let me ask you again. Where is Ken Hutchinson?'

'Dunno' Starsky fixed Sal with a stare.

'I think you do.'

'Fine. We'll agree to differ.'

Milano shook his head. 'I don't think so. You see, I need to know. By now you'll have come to realise that I'm his new best friend and I'd like to see him again.'

'I bet!' Starsky snorted.

'So I'll ask you one more time. Where is he?'

'Somewhere you'll never find him.'

'So you do know, then?'

The brunet stared defiantly back but clamped his mouth closed. Sal nodded briefly to Enzo who slipped out of the room and returned a moment later with a small scuffed leather case. he handed it to Milano who opened it carefully and extracted a needle, syringe and a vial of clear liquid. Starsky stiffened and started to pull at the wires holding his wrists to the arms of the chair.

'What's that?' he asked, trying to keep the fear from his voice. Hutch had already shot him up once with heroin. Is that the route Sal was going to take?

'Something that will ensure you tell me anything I need to know' Sal said with a grin. 'Hold him still' he said to the two heavies.

Enzo grabbed Starsky around his bicep and gripped hard enough to bruise. Sal loaded the syringe dramatically and squirted some of the fluid towards the ceiling. He tapped at the turgid vein in the crease of the brunet's elbow and poised the needle.

'One last chance cop. Where is Ken Hutchinson?'

Starsky closed his eyes against the horror of his situation. 'Fuck it' he snapped through clenched teeth as he felt the sharp sting of the needle entering his flesh. He struggled hard against his bonds as Enzo let him go, but there was no immediate warmth or languor as there had been with the horse. Instead, he felt a chill sleepiness envelope him and his eyelids became heavy. Starsky recognised the effects of the truth serum and tried to fight it, but his pains, his exhaustion and what he'd had to deal with emotionally over the past weeks was too much even for him to fight. The brunet felt his free will draining away. Whatever Sal had given him, it was more potent that anything he'd ever experienced in 'Nam.

Milano watched in satisfaction as Starsky's body relaxed on the chair. He brought a chair up to the front of the drowsy brunet and sighed patiently.

'Now. We'll start gently. What's your name?'

Starsky's chin rested on his chest, all his energy taken up with breathing. 'Sssstarssssky' he sighed. Sal smiled. This was going to be so much easier that beating the information but of the recalcitrant cop.

'And what do you do?'

'M a cop.'

'Who is your partner?' Sal's voice was insistent – persuasive but some small warning bell set off aloud in the brunet's head. He hesitated and Sal tried again.

'Your partner. What is his name?'

'Hut….sssh' Starsky slurred, unable to stop his lips from betraying him. Shit this stuff was way more powerful than anything he'd experienced before. The brunet tried to shake himself out of it, but the serum had him in its grip and Sal pressed home his advantage.

'Where is he? Where is Hutch?'

The warning bells in Starsky's head changed to huge, loud claxons and he hesitated. This was wrong. This was something that he should keep secret. His breath became shallower and he gripped the chair arms as he fought with the drug for control. With great difficulty he raised his head and blinked at Milano.

'Go ….t'hell.'

Sal sat back in his chair, both impressed at the brunet's strength of mind and irked that the drug wasn't having the desired effect. He looked up at Radio who had in his hands a small object that looked almost like a gun. 'Give him a taste of it' he said quietly as the big man grinned wolfishly. Radio stepped forward and unzipped the front of Starsky's hooded jacket. The cop flinched away reflexively as the twin electrodes of the Tazer made contact with the flesh of his chest and a moment later a few thousand volts made their way through his body. Starsky's body jangled in the chair and he screamed despite himself. Radio took the murderous weapon away and the curly haired man sank back against the chair. A moment later the pain returned as Radio applied the Tazer again and again until the screaming became more muted and Sal held up his hand to stop the session dead.

Milano grabbed a handful of sodden curls and looked into Starsky's sweat soaked face. 'Where's Hutchinson?' he asked again.

Starsky hadn't the spit to answer. His throat and mouth were dry as a bone and his nerves still twitched from the pain of the electricity. Milano let the head fall forward and nodded to Enzo. 'Give him some more. That should be just about enough.'

The second goon came forward and jabbed another needle full of the drug into Starsky's arm. The brunet hardly noticed the tiny pain after what his body had endured so far, but instantly, his wits deserted him and his vision blurred to mush. From far off, he heard Sal's voice again.

'Where is your partner?'

This time, Starsky had no choice. This time, the answer came unbidden to his lips and was out in the open before he had chance to think.

'Army base…..8th Batallion' he whispered before blackness claimed him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Hutch opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling of his small bedroom. Well, it was more of a cell than a bedroom, he thought wryly. There was a lock on the door, a small window, decorated with homely chintz curtains that barely disguised the thick iron bars outside, and a utilitarian cold tiled floor. The bed was small, but comfortable enough and in the past 48 hours he's had the privilege of sleeping in it for more than 3 hours at a stretch. Up until then, Bob Tyler had insisted that he sleep for only short periods and the incessant questioning had gone from irritating, through annoying, to a mere blur of sound that he answered almost reflexively.

The same questions, over and again – Who are your friends, who do you trust and when were you happiest?

Bob had never seemed happy with the answers, always smiling that calm, enigmatic smile until Hutch felt he wanted to knock it from the cheerful psychiatrist's face. At first, the blond cop had resisted the questioning, then he'd tried to go along with it and then he'd got downright angry because nothing he seemed to say satisfied his inquisitor. Towards the end, he'd exploded into righteous rage.

'I don't know what you want of me. You ask me the same thing over and over and yet nothing satisfied you. If I answer truthfully you ask again. If I don't answer at all, you ask again. And if I show a glimmer of original thought, you whack me up with more drugs and ask again. What am I supposed to do? You tell me.'

'I want you to be clear about your answers Hutch. I want you to remember the truth.'

'And that is?' the blond had yelled.

Tyler smiled calmly again. 'Surely that's for you to say. Just relax. Don't think, and let your instincts answer for you. Who is your best friend? Don't think, just say the name of the first person who comes into your head.'

'Starsky' Hutch snapped and then clamped his mouth closed. Why had he said that? Was it the truth? Had everything Sal had told him been a lie? Surely not! Milano had helped him. Sal had been kind to him and had given him food and water when the Cougars had had him. Sal had told him that Starsky wasn't his friend and that was the truth, wasn't it? Visions of Starsky's face came to him, laughing, joking, the blue eyes twinkling with mirth. The face morphed into Sal's, bald head complete with golden tooth looking up at him. Who was right? Who was telling him the truth?

Bob knelt by the side of Hutch and put his hand on the blond's shoulder. 'You can rest now Hutch' he said gently. 'We've done enough for today. I think we've made progress.'

The flaxen haired cop had been so exhausted at that point that he'd have said anything to get some rest. The fact he'd said "Starsky" left him shaken, his emotions a maelstrom of confusion, but the one thing he knew for sure was that he didn't mean it – did he?

That was two days ago. Since then, Hutch had been allowed more rest, although the sessions were all the same and now even more intense. He'd given Starsky's name once, but it was a reflex. He felt no emotion when he said the name other than a deep loathing, but try as he might, he couldn't now bring himself to say that Sal was his friend either. Now there was a conflict on that score too. Hutch felt that Milano was now as much to blame for his predicament and incarceration as his brunet partner was. If it hadn't been for meeting Salvador Milano, he would never have been sent to this hell hole that was laughingly called a hospital.

The blond felt more alone than he had ever done. Now he could not say that Starsky was his friend, but neither could he admit that Sal was either. He was adrift…..lonely and friendless on the ocean of his life and for the first time ever, ken Hutchinson felt sorry for himself.

There was a knock on the door of his room and he ignored it. The knock was usually a prelude to a new round of washing, dressing, eating and questioning and Hutch was heartily sick of the whole thing. He ignored the knock, turned over so that he faced the wall and pulled the blanket up around his ears. The knock sounded again, a little louder.

Hutch stilled his beating heart. Go away…..go away…..go away and leave me alone!

A final knock and then he heard the rattle of a key in the lock. Jeez, didn't privacy mean anything to these flakes? Angrily, he rolled onto his back, prepared to give the orderly a mouthful of abuse, but the words froze on his lips as Bob Tyler appeared at the door. Hutch looked at him questioningly.

'You making house calls now? Can't bear to leave me alone?'

'I need you to come with me. There's a visitor for you. I've told him this is all too soon, but um……things have taken a turn for the worst.'

The blond sat up on the bed. 'For the worst? What's happened?' Is someone hurt?'

Tyler indicated the hallway. 'Get dressed. I'll see you outside, soon as you can.'

Hutch climbed into the white scrubs that had been his uniform for the duration of his stay at the base. He rapidly finger combed his hair into place and opened the door, feeling an absurd sense of freedom at being able to open it and step outside without an escort. He looked up and down the corridor and spotted Tyler leaning on a window ledge looking out at the grounds of the base.

The shrink looked up and smiled. 'Come with me' he said quietly and walked off down the corridor towards the small interview rooms at the end. He opened a door, standing back to let Hutch through, followed the blond into the room and closed the door behind him. Traff stood up quickly and turned to face the cop.

'Traff!' Hutch said, with genuine affection in his voice. 'Have I been a good boy? I get visiting rights now?'

'Starsky's missing' Traff said without pause.

Hutch's heart lurched, but he held himself in check, unable to reason why he felt anxious. 'So?' he asked carefully.

Traff's eyes looked over Hutch's shoulder to the psychiatrist standing behind the blond. Tyler shrugged. 'I told you this was too early. Hutch still has a lot of recovery to go through.'

Traff sighed. 'Unfortunately, this won't wait for Blondie here to get his head back together. Hutch, will you help?' the soldier asked.

'Why me?'

'Because you are Starsky's partner and whether you believe it right now or not, you were also his best friend.'

'If you say so' the blond said in an emotionless tone.

'Look, I don't have time to try to persuade you otherwise' Traff snapped. 'Do you admit you're still a cop?'

Hutch nodded. 'Of course.'

'Then act like a cop! Stop asking irrelevant questions. There's someone in trouble and they need your help. You can sort out your feelings for Starsky later, right now, he needs a cop.'

'Can't someone…..?'

'Sal Milano has taken him' Traff announced, stopping the blond dead.

For a moment, Hutch considered. The two men who'd fucked his life up royally, under one roof and both available for retribution. He had the chance for a twofer and that was neat.

'When did he go missing?' he asked quietly.

'You'll help?' Traff answered one question with another.

The blond sat down on the chair in the small room. 'Give me the details' he said.

For the next quarter of an hour, the soldier outlined the facts of Dobey's "accident", of how Starsky had been while Hutch had been in the hospital and of the brunet's disappearance. The blond took it all in without saying a word. He concentrated on the facts, behaving like a cop, rather than the partner of someone who had just been kidnapped, and probably tortured. Hutch was cool, outwardly calm and after Traff had finished, clarified one or two salient points. At the end, he stood up and looked at Bob Tyler.

'I'm gonna need some outdoor clothes. I can't very well go in all guns blazing wearing scrubs.'

'We can organise the clothes, but as for weapons….. are you sure you…..?'

'Doc, I know you think I'm still crazy, but it seems I'm the only guy for this job and if I'm gonna go back into the Cougar's lair so to speak, I'm not gonna go unarmed.'

'And you aren't going on your own either' Traff said, standing up himself.

'I can do this…. or don't you trust me?'

'I trust you, chief. I just don't trust Sal Milano. You need backup and I'm it.'

'There's nothing wrong with Sal. He's….' Hutch saw the look of warning in Tyler's eyes and shut up quickly. 'I appreciate the thought buddy, but you aren't exactly known to Sal and the factory is so closely guarded that you'd never get in there. The only way I'm gonna get in is by brazening it out and driving in through the gates.'

'What if that's what Sal wants?'

Hutch shrugged. 'Won't know till I get there, will I?'

'At least let me drive you there. If you need backup I'll be just outside. I promise I won't get in the way unless you shout for help' Traff said. 'Apart from that, Doc Tyler here would never forgive me if something happened to his prize patient after all the work he's put in on you.'

Hutch grunted. 'Clothes?' he asked again.

'I have some back at my place. Now you're sure about this?'

The blond cop straightened his shoulders. Ready? It couldn't be more perfect! A legitimate chance to get both Starsky and Sal together. After that, he'd make his final decision as to who was indeed his friend – if indeed either of them were. And for the one who had messed with his head the most? Well they'd agreed to give him a gun, hadn't they?'

Hutch followed Traff obediently back across the grounds of the base to the soldier's house. Going inside, the blond cop waited in the living room while Traff routed out some clothes from his wardrobe. He looked around the plainly furnished room and saw, on the coffee table a camera. Hutch picked it up and as he lifted it to his face to look through the viewfinder. Immediately, he paused, a whiff of Starsky's familiar aftershave assaulting his nostrils.

The memorable perfume had an uncomfortable effect.

_For a moment, Hutch was transported back to the brunet's apartment. He was washed out, exhausted. He felt as though he'd been kicked into the middle of next week by a mule and he was sweating.__ The curly haired man handed him a drink of sickly sweet cola._

'_It'll make you feel better.'_

'_Another fix would make me feel better. I can't do this Starsk.'_

'_It's only been 10 days Blintz. It'll take a helluva lot longer than that to get over it.'_

_That's supposed to make me feel better? I thought your were my friend.'_

'_I am, you know that.'_

'_Then fuckin' well act like one. I'm hurting and you won't do nothin'.'_

'_I'll stand by you and I'll sponge you down when you're hurtin' and I'll sit here and take all the abuse you want to throw at me, but I'm not gonna shoot you up again. Some things are above and beyond, buddy.'_

Two faced bastard. It was Starsky who'd got him hooked. Sal had told him that. Dammit! Hutch put the camera down in a hurry as Traff walked back into the room.

'I've put you some pants and a sweat shirt out on the bed. Get changed and we can be out of here in half an hour. Hutch? Buddy? Are you ok?'

The blond shook himself mentally. Concentrate Hutchinson! One step at a time. Just get to the factory. After that, you can do what the hell you like.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Hutch emerged from the bedroom minutes later dressed in Traff's clothes. In the weeks he'd been with the Cougars he'd dropped maybe 7 or 8lbs and the jeans fit him snugly, the tee shirt a little tight, but emphasising the extra muscle he'd put on with the fitness regime Sal put his men through. He looked expectantly at the soldier.

'Gun? I need a gun.'

Traff went to the locked cupboard in his living room, opened it and took out a parcel wrapped in oiled cloth. He unwrapped it and handed the Colt M1911 to Hutch, who took it and hefted it in his hand, getting the feel of the unfamiliar hardware. It felt heavier and bigger than his own Magnum, but a gun was a gun, and so long as he could aim it well, they were all equally deadly. Hutch checked the chambers.

'Ammo?'

'There's enough to fight your way into Fort Knox.' The soldier handed a box over. 'Ready?'

'As I'll ever be' Hutch muttered as he pushed the weapon down the back waistband of his jeans. The two men made their way to the door and were half way down the path leading to the parking lot outside Traff's house when a young soldier rounded the corner at a dead run and skittered to a halt in front of the Colonel. He threw a quick salute.

'Colonel, I'm glad I caught you Sir. We've had an urgent request. The team have been ordered up to San Rafael immediately.'

Traff stopped in his tracks. 'Now? Why? What's so hell fire urgent in San Rafael?'

'Sorry Sir. Apparently a trawler has put into port. They've dredged up a live mine in their nets and it's unsafe. The coastguard requested help and the General has offered our services.'

'Can't Fingers take it? I'm kinda busy right now.'

The young soldier shook his head. 'Sorry Sir. Captain Finnerty shipped out last night to Colombia. The General said for you to head the team.'

'Fuck!' Traff was torn between following orders like a good soldier and backing up Hutch, who he was still unsure whether to trust totally. The blond saw the indecision in Traff's bright emerald eyes and seized his opportunity.

'Go. I'm fine. I can do this.'

'I dunno buddy. I mean you're still recovering and…..'

Hutch faced the soldier. 'You were the one who told me to start acting like a cop. Well a cop's job means sometimes having to go it alone. I'll be fine. I'll be careful. I don't relish the thought of catching a slug any more than you do. Go and do your job and let me go and do mine huh?'

Traff grinned briefly. 'I guess orders is orders, but I hate to cut and run. Starsky needs help, but you do too. The least I can do is lend you my car.' He tossed the keys to the blond and flipped a quick salute. 'Be careful Blondie and remember who your friends are huh?'

Hutch nodded briefly. 'I'll be fine. And for Gods sake don't go getting' yourself blown up. See ya.'

'Right back at ya buddy. Now go – and um….I'd appreciate having my car back in one piece.' Traff watched as Hutch got into the black Corvette and turned on the engine. With a spin of the wheels against the gravel, the low slung car sped off from the house and towards the gate of the base. A moment later, it was lost to view and Traff sighed deeply. _I sure hope your head aint still fucked Blondie, or Starsky's rescue is gonna be more of a death sentence._

Hutch drove quickly through the early morning gloom. He sun was not yet up and the powerful headlights of the small car cut a swathe of light through the darkness. It felt good to be out of the confines of the hospital and under his own governance again. It seemed such a long time since he'd been able to do what he wanted. First he'd been following Sal's orders and then he'd been with Bob Tyler for his "treatment". Torture more like, the blond thought as he drove. God he was so sick of questions. Questions all the time and yet whenever he tried to answer them those around him remained unsatisfied and the more they asked him, the more his mind clouded. Sal….Starsky….the Cougars…..Traff……Tyler. Who were his friends? The boundaries had so long since blurred that Hutch felt as though he knew no one. He was better off alone. It was safer for him to trust no one and allow no one into his little world. That way, he couldn't be tricked and he couldn't be hurt. That way, he could preserve himself. The words of a Simon and Garfunkel song same into his head

"I am a rock. I am an island. And a rock feels no pain and an island never cries".

That was just how he felt – like a rock. He'd closed himself down, a kind of self preservation response and now he felt good; hard and in control. He'd had two people tell him they were his best friends and both of them had lied. This time, Hutch was prepared. This time, he meant business and they'd soon see that the worm had turned.

Within an hour, Hutch had arrived at the gates of the old factory. He pulled the black Corvette into the shadows of a stand of trees and got out. He wondered – should he just walk in bold as brass and as if nothing had happened? Or should he use stealth? Reasoning that he'd been gone from the Cougars for two weeks and that Sal would have had some news of his whereabouts, Hutch decided on the latter approach. Hugging the shadows wherever he could, the blond cop circled the high metal railings defining the perimeter of the factory grounds. He remembered that there as one area where the rust had almost eaten through the bars and when he got to it, Hutch checked there was no one patrolling the grounds before carefully and as quietly as he could, he pushed against the railings until they gave way with a creak and opened up a gap large enough for him to crawl through.

The blond cop ran towards the building, crouching low, the unfamiliar gun in his hand and when he reached the protection of the factory wall, he stopped, pressing his back into the cool brick so that he could catch his breath. The night was quiet and so far he'd seen no one.

Gathering himself, Hutch pressed forward and walked quietly around to the front of the big building. Unbelievably, the huge front door was unlocked and he pushed it open a little way, insinuating himself into the factory like a blond wraith. Hutch paused, listening intently. There was nothing to be heard in the hallway, but faintly, from down in the basement, he heard voices.

Crossing the hallway, Hutch pulled open the door down to the basement, a familiar tug of apprehension licking at his guts as he went. This was where it had all started. This was where he'd started his downwards spiral with the Cougars. This was where the pain, light and noise had begun. The blond shivered slightly at the memories, grasped his weapon all the tighter and slowly started to descend into the warm depths of the basement.

The voices became plainer as he walked slowly and carefully down the steps. He could hear Sal Milano now, his voice distinct and clear. He was asking questions, but was getting no replies and as Hutch got to the bottom of the steps he saw that the usual team of Sal, Radio and Enzo were all surrounding a figure on the floor. The group parted slightly and Hutch could see a curly headed body slumped against the wall.

Starsky was close to passing out. Radio and Enzo had been with him for over an hour now. Sal had pumped him full of the truth drug again and as well as his body feeling as though it had been hit by a freight train, his mind was so much mush. The brunet's throat was dry as the Mojave, his eyelids heavy and his head almost too weighty to lift. Instead, his chin rested on his chest as he waited for the next round of fists, or feet, or both. He wasn't restrained – there was no need for it was evident that he wouldn't have been able to fight his way out of a wet paper sack.

Hutch could see, even from this distance, that the brunet's left knee, the one Hutch himself had kicked out at so long ago, was now swollen to twice its normal size. The brunet held it out stiffly in front of him as he sat propped against the wall of the basement. Sal was asking him questions.

'Do you know who is working with the Cougars?'

'You….Abbot ''n' Costello' the curly haired cop's voice rasped.

Enzo stepped forward and with great care lifted his booted foot and stepped onto the brunet's injured left knee. He leaned all his weight onto it and Starsky writhed on the ground, his mouth opened in a silent scream of pain as he went rigid. Enzo removed his foot and Starsky's body slumped back against the wall as the cop panted for breath. There was no quip this time, no wise crack. Instead, the curly haired man preserved what was left of his energy, the indomitable Starsky spirit hanging on to the bitter end in case help arrived.

As Sal hunkered down in front of the brunet again, Hutch took a step forwards, gun raised and levelled at the group. 'That's enough' he snapped, his voice loud in the basement room.

Sal, Radio and Enzo all whipped around in surprise and as Hutch took another step forward, Enzo took a small Derringer from his belt, aimed and was about to pull the trigger when Hutch's gun spoke. The noise in the confined space was deafening, the smell of cordite heavy in the air and when the shock wave died down, Enzo's body lay bloody and unmoving on the ground a few feet from Starsky.

'That's a warning. Now, everyone move nice and slow. Stand up, and back off. Backs against the wall, hands in the air.

Sal and Radio did as they were told, the bald man locking eyes with his former prisoner.

'Ken, how lovely to see you again. I was getting really worried. How are you? Did they hurt you?'

'Shuddup' Hutch snapped, not in the mood for Sal's mind games. At the sound of the familiar voice, Starsky raised his head wearily and smiled painfully.

'Utch….' He rasped. 'What kept…..'

The brunet's words were cut off abruptly. 'I said hands in the air, where I can see 'em' the blond commanded, his gun aimed at the midway spot between Starsky and Sal. To one side, Radio stood looking unsure, but ready. The brunet's face creased into concern, his relief at seeing his partner ebbing as he realised Hutch was still nowhere near "normal".

'Hutch….s'me' the brunet tried again.

'I know who it is. It doesn't make any difference. I said hands where I can see 'em.'

Slowly and painfully, Starsky too raised his hands, but remained on the ground, fear now tingeing his indigo, bruised eyes.

'That's it Ken. You tell him. You know who your friends are. You know I'm….'

The gun moved to point at the balding man and Hutch took another step until he was standing at Starsky's feet.

'I don't know nothin'. And whose fault's that huh? All I know is there are too many turkeys in my head and it's getting kinda crowded.'

'I can deal with that' Sal started, his eyes roaming down to where Starsky still sat, hands drooping but still in mid air.

'One at a time. I'll deal with ya both, one at a time, the only way I can think of.'

'Which is?' Sal asked.

Hutch snickered. 'The way you seem to like it. I have a piece an' I'm not afraid to use it.'

It was Starsky's turn now. The brunet shifted painfully on the ground. 'Hutch…..don't do nuthin you'll regret.'

'Like what?'

'Like usin' that thing before you've thought it through' the curly haired cop answered, trying to get back his connection with his partner. He saw anger in those familiar crystal blue eyes. Anger, hurt, fear, all mixed together and he could only imagine what was going on in the flaxen head.

Hutch snapped, his gun now trained fully on Starsky. 'I know exactly what I'm doin'. The two of you claimed to be my friends and yet you're both as bad as each other. You've both manipulated me, brainwashed me into thinking the best when all along you both had your own agendas. Well now it's my turn to get the upper hand. I have the chance to take you out, both of you.'

'Hutch, listen to me buddy' Starsky's throat had gone even drier and he sought solace from his partner's eyes, but found only anger and confusion. The gun, however, remained firmly trained on him, its single eye staring back at him.

'I'm done listening. Now's the time to take action.'

'And that includes killing me?'

'One less voice in my head' Hutch spat.

Starsky heard the menace in the blond's voice. Hutch wasn't fooling, he meant business and he had a cold, steely quality in his eyes now.

The brunet closed his eyes, too tired to fight any more. If he was going to die, thank God it was at Hutch's hands and no on else's. He swallowed hard and raised his eyes to his partner. 'So you're hurtin' so much…..it's come to this then. Just one thing, please buddy? Make it quick huh?' he said softly.

Hutch ignored the plea, drew back the hammer on the gun, the dull "click" resonating around the basement and signing the brunet's death warrant.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Starsky closed his eyes and waited for the report of the gun. Would it hurt? He'd been unfortunate enough to have been shot before, but never through the head at point blank range. Would he see the bullet coming? Would he feel it? Would he have time to experience the pain? Would there be instant blackness? So many questions in such a short space of time, but always at the forefront of his mind was the single thought that this was Hutch and Starsky would forgive his partner anything – even this. Why hadn't he tried harder to stop the blond taking the assignment? Why hadn't he gone to Dobey, or maybe just strangled Markham and Chun?

'What the hell did I do?' he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. The words were few, but they were enough to stop Hutch in his tracks.

The blond had never expected to feel this way. He'd steeled himself to kill first Starsky and then Sal, and maybe take out Enzo and Radio too. He'd hoped for peace of mind and a cessation of the constant questions, first from Sal and the Cougars and lately from the shrink at the Army base. He was tired – tired of trying to decide who to trust and who not. Hutch was desperate for his mind to have a small quiet place to retreat to, but whether he was asleep or awake, he had the constant feeling of conflict. It sapped his energy, lowered his reserves and set his nerves on edge. Getting rid of the two men he felt had caused the conflict was a way of gaining that peace and Hutch had looked forward to it for so long.

Enzo was down and out for sure, but now that Hutch had the weapon pointing at the chocolate coloured curls, there were mixed emotions. He'd never realised how hard this was and with the Colt in his hand he had been steeling himself to pull the trigger, but once again Starsky had spoiled his plans. Once again the brunet had taken away the certainty from his mind and had stopped him feeling that peace. The voice, cracked and rasping as it was, held such sorrow that Hutch's hand wavered and without realising he responded.

'What did you expect? You said you were my friend. Why?'

Heavy, pain filled eyes lifted to pierce the blond with a sapphire blade. Starsky grinned wearily. 'Seemed like a good idea at the time.'

And there it was – those eight simple words hanging in the air between them were enough to transport Hutch back to a warm, dark night, a rooftop and a madman with a gun. Hutch had dived through the doorway onto the roof chasing Vic Bellamy, the man thought to be the only one with a clue as to the poison injected into Starsky 21 hours earlier. Bellamy had shucked off the fake leg cast he'd used as an alibi and had headed upwards, out of his grimy apartment and up to the roof as Hutch had helped Starsky out of the Torino and to the steps.

'Let me'

'S'ok. I have, as they say, a vested interest in this' the brunet had gasped through the crippling pains in his stomach.

Together, the two men had climbed the steps and burst into the apartment in time to see Bellamy's girlfriend standing against the table. She'd told them that Vic had gone up to the roof and Hutch had gone charging after him while Starsky had leaned heavily against the lintel of the door.

'Has he got a gun?'

'Yes. It wasn't my fault, it wasn't…'

'Terrific' the curly haired cop muttered and lurched away up the steps. As Starsky got to the top and out onto the roof he was just in time to see that Bellamy had got the blond pinned down behind scant cover and was closing in on Hutch.

With rapidly blurring vision, Starsky had aimed his gun at the flake but wasn't strong enough to hold it steady with one hand. Cupping his right hand around his left, he'd extended his arms, braced himself against the wall, screwed up his eyes and let loose with the full clip of bullets, seeing Bellamy fall to the floor dead before his vision gave out completely.

Hutch had rushed to Bellamy's side and rolled him over on the ground, picking him up by his collar, but it was evident even as he looked down at the older man that Vic Bellamy would be explaining his wrong doings to a far higher court than Hutch would see for a long time. Letting the body fall to the ground, Hutch rushed over to Starsky's side as the brunet slid down the side of the wall. Hutch had put his arm around his partner's waist and held him tightly as though he could somehow keep the life from fleeing the body.

'Thanks Pal. why'd ya have to do that? He was the only one who knew.'

And Starsky had looked up with dimming eyes and whispered 'Seemed like a good idea at the time.'

Now Hutch could feel Starsky's body against his arm as though he were back on the rooftop. Why would Starsky have done that if he'd wanted Hutch dead? How could Sal explain that little snippet?

Salvador Milano watched the play of words and saw the emotions flitting across Hutch's handsome features knowing that if he didn't do something immediately his grand plan would be in ruins. He took a cautious step forward and raised his hand, the intention being to take a hold of Hutch's shoulder but from the corner of his eye, the blond saw the movement and whirled around, acting on pure instinct.

Hutch grabbed Sal's hand as it came towards him and used the bald man's momentum to pull him into his body. Taking a hold of Sal round the neck, Hutch drove the muzzle of his gun into the man's temple, using his body as a shield as Radio made his move.

'Not so fast' the blond snapped, drilling the metal into Milano's head. 'Back off nice and slow.'

Radio stopped stock still and then took a faltering step backwards. From the ground there was a week rasping sound.

'Utch….?' There was a question behind the name, but now was not the time for explanations and in any event Hutch wasn't sure what to explain. He felt relieved that he hadn't pulled the trigger, sure that Starsky was his friend whilst Sal wasn't, but still unsure of his feelings for anyone. Things had changed. He'd acted so viciously towards the brunet and yet there was still trust in those indigo eyes that was so intense that the blond had to look away.

'Starsk, can you walk?' Hutch asked, never taking his eyes from Radio.

'Dunno. Gonna try' the brunet responded. Starsky put the flat of his hands against the wall at his back and tried to lever himself up. It was apparent that his left knee was not the only thing damaged by Sal's treatment for as he started to push, his face creased into a grimace of pain and his arms flew to wrap protectively around his ribs.

Hutch flicked his head at Milano's henchman. 'Help him up. Carry him if you have to, but if I hear him groan once, you're dead and so is your boss, got that?' He turned his attention back to his partner. 'You think you can make it?'

Starsky nodded once as Radio looked back at Salvador. The bald man nodded briefly, unable to move too far because of Hutch's strong arm wrapped around his neck. With a grunt of disapproval, Radio bent down and put his hands under the brunet's arms, pulling him to his feet. Starsky hissed and paled visibly as he achieved the vertical. He leaned back against the wall, all his weight resting on his right leg as Hutch motioned towards the steps.

'Outside, nice and slow. One wrong move and Mr Milano'll have his face rearranged all over the ceiling. Now move.'

Radio took a firmer hold of Starsky and started to semi carry him to the steps. As he started to climb them, however, the brunet was forced to put weight on his injured knee and he let out a yelp of pain. Immediately, Hutch drove the gun deeper in Milano's temple and Sal grunted.

'Can't you be more careful, ya dumb son of a bitch? You want my brains splattered against the wall? Pick him up. Carry him' the bald man snapped 'but for Gods sake be careful.' Radio gave his boss a dirty look, bent down and threw Starsky none too gently over his shoulder, walking carefully up the steps.

The brunet felt his world turn upside down quite literally. So far he managed to hold himself together - first the beatings and drugs, then the issue with Hutch wanting to kill him and then the rush of relief when the blond had instead turned the weapon on Sal. That left him feeling light headed with the rush of adrenaline and he'd only just managed to get himself upright with the big henchman's help. Now, however, being over Radio's shoulder brought untold pressure to bear on his damaged stomach and shoulder and threatened to cut off his breathing. Unable to keep his leg stiff in that position either, the pain finally overwhelmed Starsky and with a final gasp, he passed out.

The small cortege finally gained the top of the steps and headed out across the hallway to the open front door. The dawn was breaking outside and in the first milky light Hutch saw the small black Corvette waiting for him. Still holding firmly onto Sal, Hutch pushed the bald man across the tiled hallway and outside, his eyes still firmly on Radio and his burden. Starsky's body hung limply from the big man's shoulder and Hutch could tell even without checking that his partner was unconscious. He needed medical treatment and he needed it now, but the prospect of sitting in the tiny car with the brunet was something Hutch didn't relish. Sure he'd decided not to kill Starsky, but he was far from ready to make polite conversation. It was maybe fortunate that the injured man was insensate.

'Open the door and put him in the passenger seat. Carefully. One false move……one attempt to hurt him…..and your boss here won't see another day. After he's gone, it'd be your turn.'

'You wouldn't. You're a cop' Radio muttered harshly.

The blond grinned mirthlessly. 'In the words of one of those film cops, do you wanna chance it? C'mon punk. Make my day.'

'For Gods sake Radio, just do it' Sal snapped.

'You should listen to your boss. Coz after him, I can fire another slug within a second. How far d'ya think you'd be able to get?' Hutch snarled.

'You've changed, Ken.'

'Uh huh. and who do I have to thank for that? Now enough talk. Get my partner in the car, now.'

Muttering under his breath, Radio crouched down and with difficulty inserted the limp body into the car. Radio stood up, suddenly feeling light and free of Starsky's weight. With a desperate look on his face, he took his opportunity, swung around and tried to kick out at Hutch.

The big man missed his mark, catching Sal on the leg instead. Milano shrieked in pain and Hutch let go in surprise. Radio dived towards the blond cop who staggered backwards, righted himself and looked up in surprise. The big man was in midair as Sal fall to the floor and Radio's hands reached for Hutch's neck. A split second later, Hutch's Colt spoke, the report deafening in the early morning quiet and Radio was thrown backwards by the impact of the bullet. He fell to the floor clutching his thigh as he screamed and blood spurted from the wound. Sal, who had been getting to his knees to help the heavy attack Hutch sank back in fear and put his hands up.

'Ken, now don't do anything you'll regret huh? I mean, think of all the good times we had. We were close, you and I. We were….'

'We were never close. You used me.'

'No, Ken, let me explain' Sal said, getting to his knees again. Like most bullies, he was a coward at heart and now he shuffled forwards on his knees until he could claw at Hutch's legs. 'I never meant to hurt you Ken. I never meant to do anything to hurt you.'

'Shuddup Milano.'

Sal tried again, his hands reaching for Hutch but the blond had had enough. Too many words again. Too much talk clouding his mind. With a roar of rage and confusion, the flaxen haired cop tossed his gun, flipping it over to catch the barrel end and brought the butt down smartly on Milano's neck. The light immediately left the bald man's eyes and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Hutch slipped the weapon into the back of his waistband and got into the car. He turned on the engine and drove away from the factory leaving Sal and Radio to be sprayed with a hail of gravel from the drive.

As he drove, Hutch tried to keep from looking at Starsky. The brunet was slumped in the front seat, still out of it completely. Chin on chest, his eyes were closed, but he breathed evenly, the side of his head against the window of the car. The blond felt relief at being away from Sal. He also felt relief that Starsky was alive and away from the factory, and yet the old feelings were no longer there. Too much had happened and Hutch needed time – time alone to figure things out. He wanted the memories plaguing him to dim so that he could think straight but as the hospital's brightly lit emergency entrance came into view, Starsky groaned softly and raised his head.

'Utch…..where are we?'

'Hospital.'

'No….don't wanna……hate hospitals…..needles and…..'

'We're here' Hutch cut him off coldly. 'Wait here.'

Starsky tried to grab from Hutch's hand. 'Utch…..buddy? Hutch?' but the blond was out of the car and running into the ER foyer. A moment later, he reappeared with a doctor and a nurse, wheeling a gurney between them. The blond opened the passenger side door and between them, he and the doctor managed to ease Starsky out of the vehicle and onto the gurney.

'His name's Dave Starsky, 28, blood group A+. He's a cop with BCPD. They'll want to know he's ok.'

'Are you a relative?' the doctor asked.

'No.'

'Friend?'

'I'll tell the precinct' Hutch said, ducking the question

A hand insinuated itself into Hutch's grip and he looked down at it. Starsky looked back up at his partner. 'Thanks buddy…..Hutch, I…..'

But instead of bending down to listen to his partner, Hutch stared for a moment at the hand and then firmly disengaged his hand from Starsky's and turned away without another word.

Starsky struggled to sit up on the gurney. 'Hutch….where're ya goin'? Hutch? Don't go……Huuutch.'

The doctor forced his patient back down onto the white pillow but the brunet struggled with him, yelling Hutch's name all the louder.

'Dave, we need you to lie still. Dave….Dave!' The doctor fished in the pocket of his white coat and brought out a syringe. 'Nurse, hold him steady. Mr Starsky, if you don't lie still, I'll have to sedate you.'

In response, Starsky made another bid to sit up. The doctor shook his head, drove home the needle and depressed the plunger. The brunet's eyes closed and he rolled his head on the pillow in anguish. 'Hutch…..Utshhhh….don't…….go' he sighed before sleep overtook him again.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

Hutch ran from the hospital ER. He needed to distance himself from the brunet cop, Starsky's entreaties to return ringing in his ears. Desperately, he got back into the Corvette and sped away from the hospital and the accusing look in Starsky's eyes although he had no idea where he was going to go to or who to trust. Going back to his home seemed a bad idea, and his other usual refuge – at Ridgeway was also out of the question. As for heading back to the Army base – the idea of another round with Dr Frankenstein, the shrink left his feeling faintly queasy. Instead, Hutch aimed the car away from the hospital and out towards the suburbs of the city, driving mechanically, blindly. The blond's head was a maelstrom of emotions but he was in no condition to try to deal with them right then. So much had happened to him in the past month; so many people had tried to "help" him, that all Hutch really wanted was to drive away into the middle of the desert, to a place where he could be completely on his own for a few hundred years so that he could sort out his head.

As he drove, pictures of Sal Milano, kneeling in front of him as he struggled to come to terms with the drugs entering Hutch's system floated in front of his eyes. The bald man had said that he was Hutch's friend – his one true friend and yet now that Hutch had time to really consider and think about it, Sal had been there the whole time that Radio and Enzo had been beating the crap out of him. He'd been there while the drugs were forced into his body and he'd been there when Hutch had been left to rot in that stinking cell. Would a friend really do that? Would a friend really allow that to happen? The answer was a resounding "no" and yet Hutch had been completely suckered by the man.

The blond slammed his hand against the steering wheel hard as he drove, bruising the side of it against the bakelite wheel. He'd been so stupid. How could he have allowed himself to be drawn into Milano's lies? How could he have allowed himself to be turned against Starsky of all people?

Starsky!

Oh shit!

What the hell had he done to Starsky? And what had he said to the smaller man?

Hutch sighed deeply, unable to process his feelings about the brunet. That was something else entirely, something that the flaxen haired cop was not prepared to think about right now. His feelings were too complicated, too raw and too fresh to even think about at that moment. Hutch tried to close his mind completely to the thoughts. He'd done his duty. He'd saved Starsky – even if he'd saved him from Hutch's own gun – and then he'd delivered the curly haired man to the hospital where he was going to get the care he needed.

Visions of the bruises, cuts and burns across Starsky's body made Hutch wince. The brunet had been in pain, his left knee swollen to triple its normal size. And yet, not once throughout all this stinking episode had Starsky blamed Hutch. Not once had the brunet made comment about Hutch's behaviour or retaliated against the words. In fact back at the factory he'd seemed genuinely grateful to Hutch for the blond being there. Figure that one out Blondie!

'_You don't want me to mention how sick and tired I got of being woken in the night just so that you could chase away the monsters under your bed? Don't you know that only little kids still sleep with the light on Starsk?'………….'_ _I have no idea why I even came lookin' for ya at that old zoo. I should've just left 'em to it, they seemed hell bent on finishing ya. I don't know why I didn't just let 'em.'_

'……_you were never my friend. You wanted to hold me back, bring me down, and to think I saved your life!'_

The blond man shook his head, trying to dislodge the poisonous words from his head. He'd said them and at the time, he'd meant them. Did he still mean them? Did he still feel that way about looking after Starsky? If he did, why had he risked his life to get his partner to the hospital? Why did his stomach crawl at the memory, and why did the cold sweat break out on his forehead? Why had he done gone in there, if he still felt that way?

Because that was his job. Traff had said he was a cop and he should start to act like one, so he had. He'd gone in there, all guns blazing, he'd saved the good guy and shot the bad guy and he'd saved the day……hadn't he?

At the back of his mind, however, Hutch was still unsure who exactly was the good guy and the bad guy, his mind so damaged by his treatment and the "cure".

'STOP IT!' Hutch yelled into the solitary interior of the car and looked into the rear view mirror at the blazing angry slivers of ice blue staring back at him, glistening like ice chips against a fall of snow. And then he saw something else.

In the distance, coming up quickly on the outside of his car, with the headlights blazing and the red light flashing on the roof was a large black nondescript Ford – the sort that only Feds or flakes would drive – and flakes didn't have mars lights.

'Oh fuck no!' Hutch spat into the morning air. For a moment he thought about opening up the Corvette and trying to burn off the fast approaching Ford but the headlights glared at him defiantly and he knew that if he lost his tail this time, they'd only come for him again and again. Might as well get the meeting over with right now so that he could try to get his life back together all the sooner. With another curse, Hutch pressed the brake pedal and indicated he was pulling over to the side of the road. He sat with the engine running, fuming as he saw the familiar figures of Markham and Chun get out of the Ford and saunter over. Markham leaned down to look into the drivers side window as Chun cut off his escape route through the passenger side.

'Sergeant Hutchinson! Or do I call you the Scarlet Pimpernel? You're as difficult to locate' Markham said, chuckling at his own humourless joke.

'Depends on the company' Hutch grunted without looking up. He had one hand on the wheel and was drumming his fingers in a silent staccato beat.

'Get out of the car and come with me' the Fed said, suddenly all business.

'Why?'

'Because there are a few things we want to ask you about.'

'How did you find me?' Hutch asked and then the light dawned. He'd been suckered again. 'Did Starsky tell you? The dumb son of a …..how's that for fuckin' gratitude?'

'Sergeant Starsky didn't say a word – he couldn't. He was taken straight to surgery. Apart from that, the curly haired moron would sooner shop his own mother than tell us where you were. No, we had all the hospitals, most of the hotels and all of your snitches watched.'

Immediately Hutch felt a surge of gratitude to Starsky and at the same time a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that he'd been so ready to blame his partner. 'I'm flattered. You have all that manpower used up when you could've just gone straight to the Cougar's lair and done the business with them.'

A flash of anger crossed Markham's face. 'I'm not gonna discuss that with you right now. This is neither the time nor the place. I told you to get out of the car and follow me.'

'And I think I told you to fuck off. The sentiment still stands.'

'Chun looked over at his partner and then opened the car door. 'Ken Hutchinson I'm arresting you for the…..'

'What?' Hutch's voice rose in anger as he glared at the two men.

'…..for the robbery and subsequent sale of property belonging to the Bay City Police Department' Chun finished with a slight smile.

The blond looked truly noneplussed. 'For the robbery…… you think I'm the mole? Oh for fuck's sake. It aint me, you dumb creeps. Why would I want to do that? You sent me in to investigate the Cougars.'

'And what better way to aid their operation huh? I mean, if you're undercover for the cops, why not be a double agent? You were in the right place at the right time and some of your actions since have been…..odd, to say the least.'

'I always new the Feds were idiots, but you two take the cookie!'

Markham wrenched open the door to Hutch's side of the car. 'I said get out, NOW.'

Hutch glared defiantly, but eventually saw there was no option open to him other than to get out of the car. As he did, Markham took a hold of the blond's shoulders, spinning him round so that he faced the Corvette.

'Assume the position' the Fed snapped, spreading Hutch's ankles wide with his foot. The cop grunted and placed his hands on the roof of the car as Markham patted him down, relieved him of the Colt and then surrounded his wrists with cold metal handcuffs, fastened behind the blond's back. He pushed Hutch towards the Ford as Chun got in behind the wheel of the Corvette.

'Be careful with that – it's borrowed. One scratch and you'll pay' Hutch snapped over his shoulder. He got into the back of the Ford as Markham got into the front, locked the doors and set off down town. As they drove, however, it was clear that they were not going in the direction of the Metro and Hutch leaned forward. 'Where are we goin'?' he asked.

Markham kept his eyes on the road but threw the words over his shoulder. 'FBI headquarters.

'Dobey aint gonna like that.'

'Dobey doesn't have any say in this right now.'

Hutch sat back. 'The Feds might be running the show, but my Captain has a right to know what's going on.'

'Your Captain does know what's going on. Unfortunately, Captain Dobey is still in the hospital. Captain Fargo knows all about our meeting.'

The blond cop stopped dead. 'Dobey's in the hospital? Why? Is he sick?'

'Well that's one way to describe it. Your friends the Cougars thought he was getting in the way. They planted a bomb in his car. It detonated outside his house.'

'Oh my God! How is he? What about his family? Are they hurt?' Hutch asked, his own problems forgotten for a moment.

'Dobey was in intensive care for a while but he's making progress now. His family were fine.'

'And Fargo? You mean Lieutenant Fargo? Narcotics?' Hutch asked.

'On temporary promotion while Dobey is on sick leave. He um….. he doesn't seem to like you, or your partner particularly.'

Hutch grunted, feeling suddenly adrift in an ocean of uncertainty. 'The feelings mutual' he grunted quietly.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

Hutch sat in the small, white, utilitarian interview room, his head resting in his hands and his elbows propping him up on the Formica topped table. He'd been here now for around about 12 hours, so far as he could make out and during that time, Markham and Chun had been in and out of the room three or four times. They'd left him cups of coffee which he'd drunk and a dried out cheese sandwich, the crusts curling away from the meagre filling, which he'd taken one bite of and then pushed away in disgust. He wasn't hungry anyway, just deathly tired, confused and, if he was completely honest with himself, hurting.

The blond recognised the two men's strategy. To begin with, they sat him down without a word, left the room without a backwards glance and locked the door behind them. Stage 1, Hutch thought to himself – give the interviewee time to reflect on his actions. Not that Hutch really wanted to reflect. His mind was too crowded with other dark thoughts and he needed peace and quiet to deal with his issues, not a meagre hour or so before the two suits came back to drill him. Hutch wanted to retreat away from the world somewhere, where he could finally steel himself to face the thoughts that were causing him so much pain – that he'd hurt Starsky, that he'd tried to kill the brunet and that he'd said such poisonous things to the man who'd been his partner. It wasn't that Hutch still wanted Starsky's friendship, things were too raw for that, but Hutch remembered every action, every blade-like word he'd uttered to Starsky and every look of hurt and compassion in those deep indigo bue eyes. No, it wasn't so much that he'd done those things – at the time he'd been convinced they were the right moves, but it was more the fact that he remembered every single one of his actions and the look of hurt on his former friends face.

If he'd been drugged into attacking Starsky, things might have been different. If Hutch had been coerced into doing them things might have left him feeling less of a bastard. If he'd been drugged and forced, then once they were done he'd have had no memory of them that would have been so much easier.

This however, was far more cruel. Hutch remembered absolutely everything. The words, the actions, the blows, the feel of the needle in his hand and the fact that he'd wanted to cause Starsky pain and anguish before he finally finished the brunet off. That's what hurt most – that the Cougars had broken him so completely in so short a time and that he could still feel that same rush of indignation when he saw the brunet.

Hutch scrubbed his hands through his hair as though he could somehow scratch out the memories and sighed. Time. He needed time to deal with this and to finally decide which were his own true feelings, and which were the ones that had been fed to him so convincingly.

Stage 2 of the interrogation came soon enough. The door opened suddenly making the blond cop jump slightly and Chun and his partner burst into the room. For a brief moment, Hutch tried to decide which of the men would play good cop and which bad. The answer came soon enough when Markham drew up a blue plastic chair, sat down by his side and offered him a cigarette while Chun leaned over the table, his face inches from Hutch's. The blond waved the cigarette away and glared into Chun's eyes, facing the Fed off.

'Who is the mole?' Chun spat into Hutch's face, the Chinese man's eyes angry.

'Dunno. I never got to find out.'

'Who are you protecting?'

The blond's eyebrows rose. 'Protecting? No-one.'

'Why did you let Milano go?' Chun snapped.

'Because thanks to your inaptitude, I didn't have no backup' Hutch yelled back at him.

'But you had him right there – him and his main men. You could have shot him, you could have arrested him. Why let him go if you aren't working with him?'

'I told you before. I was und..undercover f for you.' Hutch's nervous stammer returned and he bit his lip hard, trying to get it under control.

'And what a great way to work for him undetected! Do you think I came off the last banana boat?'

'Don't tempt me to answer that' the blond snickered.

'Then tell me who the mole is. Who are you protecting? You can't expect us to believe you worked with them for two months and never found out a name!'

Hutch shook his head. His thoughts were unclear, his brain sluggish with exhaustion, but he still couldn't make sense of what Chun was saying. It was so much garbage. 'Fuck you!' he grunted.

'How'd you get the weapons out?'

'How'd you get to be so goddamned stupid?' Hutch shot back.

'I'll ask again. What was your cut? How did the weapons end up back out on the street? How much did you make on the scam?'

The blond sighed deeply. 'Listen up coz I'm only gonna say this once. You employed me to go undercover, which I did. I sacrificed two months of my life to do your job for ya. I lived with the Cougars, I got their colours sliced into my arm, I ate with 'em and I slept with 'em. I put my life on hold and I was pretty convincing, but not convincing enough. Salvador Milano is tight. He says nothin' and he shares nothin' with his men. He meets with someone, a man, an IA cop. I don't know his name, I don't know how they get the fuckin' guns out and I don't enjoy being used as a pawn in your mindless games.'

Chun grabbed a hold of Hutch's tee shirt collar and pulled the blond towards him. For a moment it looked as if the Fed was going to strike him, but at the last moment, Markham stepped in, separated the two men and pulled his partner away.

'You should keep your pet hound on a leash' Hutch snapped as the two Feds headed for the door. It closed behind them and once again, Hutch was alone with the silence and his thoughts.

Stage 3 came after maybe 19 hours of almost constant interrogation. Markham came back into the interview room alone, cigarette in mouth and eyes narrowed against the smoke pluming from the red tip. He walked purposefully to the table, hooked a chair with the toe of his boot and sat down astride the chair so that his elbows rested on its back. For a moment, Hutch was reminded of Starsky, who used to employ much the same method. The blond shook his head mentally. _Not now. No memories now. Too soon, too painful. Concentrate. One thing at a time. Concentrate on…..what? God. Tired…..bloody tired. Think Hutchinson. Try to concentrate_

'You're going down for a long time buddy. Why don't you make it easier on yourself? Maybe I could have a word with the Judge. You know how it goes – helping us with our enquiries……informing. I could get the sentence cut by maybe half. I'm telling you this as a friend. I hate to see cops on the wrong side of the law, and you know I like you Ken. Why not just tell me now and we can get this all sorted out huh?'

Hutch dragged his mind back to what Markham was saying and knew things were coming to a close. This was a last ditch attempt to get him to incriminate himself and he and Starsky had used the technique themselves. He stared at Markham and grinned. 'You got nothing on me punk. Now back off and let me get out of here. I told you all I know.'

Markham got up without a word and walked out of the room, leaving Hutch alone and in silence again. The days and weeks of non stop questioning though, finally took their toll on the blond. First there had been the brainwashing with Sal and the Cougars. Hours and hours of beatings, drugs and the same questions over and over again. Then there has been the release, this time to go with Starsky and finally to the Army base. There, he'd endured much the same treatment as he had done at the hands of the gang, but with no violence, lights or noise and some food thrown in for good measure. But it was still questioning – the same things over and over until the words themselves lost all meaning, and still Bob Tyler had continued, battering away at his consciousness. Now this. The Feds. Same questions, same manner. Always the same. So many questions, so much time spent staring back at the faces until they blurred into each other, and all the time, Hutch's mind was retreating into itself.

The blond giggled briefly. It was a manic sound and brought him up short. My God he was losing it big time. _Pull yourself together Hutchinson. Hold it together huh?'_

A moment later, Markham and Chun reappeared at the door of the interview room. In his hand Markham had a small paper sack containing Hutch's few possessions that had been taken from him after his "arrest".

'You're one lucky son-of-a-bitch' Chun snapped. 'Whatever you know, you hide it well, I gotta give you credit for that.'

Hutch glared at him but refused to rise to the bait. Instead, he stood slowly, staggered a little, righted himself and walked over to the two Feds.

'I take it you didn't find nothin' and I'm free to go.'

'For the minute. Don't think this saves you from a long spell in Folsom, it doesn't. We just haven't caught you yet.'

The blond snatched the bag from Markham, brushed past the two men and made his bid for freedom.

Walking like a man in a dream, Hutch made his way down to the parking lot on the off chance that the Corvette was parked there. It was, and praise be, the keys were still inside. The blond got into the car and switched on the engine automatically. Putting the selector into drive, he pulled out of the parking space, drove out of the garage and into the afternoon sunshine.

Hutch didn't notice the sun. He didn't really comprehend where he was driving to. He pressed the gas and the brake automatically. He steered around corners safely, stopped at red lights and even allowed women with prams to cross in front of him, but he wasn't truly there. He saw the road, he acknowledged the traffic and the pedestrians, but Hutch's mind had closed down. It needed rest and it needed to reset itself and all Hutch knew for sure was that he needed somewhere safe, quiet and friendly in which to hide.

For over an hour, the blond drove aimlessly around the city. His mind held three places of safety – Ridgeway, Venice Place and the Pits. There were too many memories at both Ridgeway and Venice Place, too many things to remind him of Starsky, their partnership and how things used to be. Hutch didn't really want anyone around him either, but the only place he could think of going to was Huggy Bear's and without really making a conscious decision, he found himself driving over to the far side of town, his hands turning the wheel without his brain telling them what to do.

Hutch was on autopilot. He felt as though he had let everyone down. He couldn't get the job done for the Feds, he had almost killed Starsky, he felt responsible in some way for Dobey being in the hospital and he was alone. He wanted people around him for the comfort of being amongst friends, but he didn't want to talk or have to explain himself to anyone. There had been too many questions thrown at him – too many accusations directed his way and he could neither think straight, or indeed process any more of what was going on around him.

By the time Hutch got to the Pits bar and parked up out back, it was six thirty and the sun was beginning to go down. The bar was deserted at this time of the day. Those who called in for a drink after work had gone home to their partners and wives and those who were wanted a night out had yet to arrive. As Hutch pushed the back door to the bar open, Huggy looked up from counting the float into the till and smiled.

'Hey Blondie! What gives my man?'

In answer, Hutch staggered to the bar, leaned heavily against the hard wooden top and breathed 'I need help' into the air in front of him.

The black barkeep took a better look at his blond friend. Hutch was thinner for sure than he had been. His clothes were dirty and unkempt and rumpled as though he'd slept in them although the state of his eyes left Huggy wondering exactly when Hutch had slept last.

Those usually crystal clear blue eyes now held a haunted, hunted look. Red rimmed with exhaustion, they stared wildly from a face that still held fading bruises and a mostly healed cut above his eye, but it was the shake in Hutch's hand that really shook Huggy. Hutch's hands, and in fact the whole of his body was shaking as though it were freezing cold and yet there was a sheen of perspiration on the blond's brow.

'Sure thing Hutch. Are ya sick?'

The blond stared blankly back. Now that he'd finally made it to safety and to the care of someone he knew and who he could trust, the last vestiges of the man known as Ken Hutchinson finally melted away to a place where n-one could fid them. In their stead was a walking, breathing blond body which was empty of a soul. The eys now looking at Huggy were as devoid of life as the moon. It was s though someone had thrown a toggle and switched Hutch off and all that remained was some residual energy allowing him to stand, walk and breathe.

Without questioning further, Huggy came around the bar and took a gentle hold of the blond's arm.

'C'mon Pal, lets get you upstairs and comfortable huh?' he said as he tugged Hutch towards the stairs up to the room on the first floor. Hutch allowed himself to be led away from the bar. He had no thoughts, no reactions left. Instead, he obediently followed Huggy into the room and stood just inside the doorway. He waited patiently as Huggy took off his shirt, making no comment at the scars decorating his back and chest. After unbuckling Hutch's belt and taking off pants, shoes and socks, Huggy manoeuvred the blond onto the bed, settled him down, covered him up and sat quietly back as the blond's eyes closed and his breathed evened out until he was asleep.

Quietly, Huggy walked to the door, locked it behind him and headed to the bar. 'Hey honey' he shouted to the barmaid who'd just put her purse behind the bar. 'I'm gonna be busy tonight. Gloria will be in at 8. Can you hold the fort till then?' The black man acknowledged the nod with a wave of his hand, went into the back and picked up the phone. He dialled for the operator and asked for the number of the 8th Battalion Army base.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30**

'How long has he been like this?' Traff asked as he knelt by the side of the blond cop.

'Since he walked into my bar about 3 hours ago. He won't talk, won't acknowledge me, won't even look at me. Tell you the truth, it kinda gives me the creeps. It's like one of those "Night of the Living Dead" horror movies, he just lies there' Huggy said as he handed the soldier a cup of coffee.

Traff put the cup down on the night stand and rested his hands on Hutch's arm. The flaxen haired man hadn't moved since Huggy had managed to get him into the bed. He hadn't slept, neither had he closed his eyes for very long, his only communication with the outside world seeming to be a blink every now and then.

'Hutch buddy, it's me, Traff. Can you hear me?'

There was no response and Traff stood and leaned over the man in the bed. 'Hey Blondie. I need you to tell me if you're ok. Are you hurtin'? Hutch? C'mon bud…..gimme a hand here.'

Slowly, Hutch's head turned on the pillow and seemed to see Traff and Huggy as though for the first time. 'Tired' he whispered.

'But you don't hurt?'

A brief shake of the head acted as a response. Traff smiled encouragingly. 'That's good. Hutch, do you need a drink? Coffee? Tea?'

Hutch looked up at the soldier. Lips were moving and sounds were coming out but Traff had just offered him a choice. Choices were difficult. They made Hutch think and thinking was something he didn't want to do. Hutch didn't want to do anything. Fearful of sleep, he'd tried to keep his eyes open. Sleep would mean dreams and dreams would mean memories – memories of hurting and confusion and Starsky. Instead Hutch stared blankly back at Traff, his eyes unfocused. The soldier tried again.

'Ok buddy. Let's make it simple. You want coffee?'

Head shake.

'Tea?'

Head shake.

'Anything to drink?'

Hutch closed his eyes. _Go away. Go away and leave me alone…..no wait. Don't leave me alone, but don't talk. Don't make me talk, just……be here._ With an effort, he shook his head.

'Ok buddy, just rest huh? You look all in. Me and Hug will be right over there.' Traff got up from the bed, but as he was about to walk away, a strong hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. The soldier looked down at it and smiled. 'Want me to stay? No problem, though I have to tell ya Blondie, the strong silent type don't suit ya.' Traff sat back down and made himself comfortable, watching as Hutch's eyes finally closed and the blond drifted into a troubled and restless sleep.

'What the hell's happened to him?' Huggy asked.

'Too much for him to handle by the looks of it. He was seeing one of the Docs at the base for a while but then Starsky ended being in trouble and….'

'Is he ok? Starsky? Where is he?'

'I dunno. Seems Hutch finally managed to find him and get him from out of the group's clutches, but he was hurt. This is the part I can't understand. Hutch took Starsky to the hospital, made sure he was ok and then left him alone. Starsky phoned me a while ago. He was groggy – he'd just come out of the anaesthetic, but he was worried.'

Huggy's eyebrows had shot up so far that they were in danger of flying off the black man's head. 'Hutch left Starsky at the hospital? Shit, he must be fucked in the head. Unless I'd heard it from your lips, I'd never have believed it. The curly one must be tied to the bed otherwise he'd be out of the doors faster than they could catch him. He's never been separated from Hutch when he's sick or injured.'

'Curly told me Hutch was still different, but….. Well, let's hope when he's had a sleep and a rest he'll feel better. I managed to persuade Davey to stay put and I'll go see him tomorrow.'

The two men looked sadly at the blond cop who lay on the bed twitching and moaning, not so much from pain, it appeared, but more from dreams. Quietly, Traff disengaged his hand from Hutch's, got up and walked over to the two chairs in the room to settle down for what looked like a long night.

Early the next morning, Traff left Huggy to look after Hutch while he made his way back to the Army base. He arranged with his CO to have some leave and then telephoned the hospital to check on Starsky, asking the staff to tell the brunet that he would be in to visit that afternoon.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Starsky awoke with the familiar metallic taste of morphine in his mouth. He recognised the groggy feeling of the drug and for a moment snuggled back onto the pillow with a contented sigh, reaching instinctively for the hand that was usually there. When his own hand came up empty, the brunet opened his eyes wide and reality hit. He was in Memorial hospital, he'd had surgery on his damaged knee……and he was alone.

Hutch!

Starsky's time at the hands of the Cougars had only been short – painful but mercifully short, but during his time there, for the first time since 'Nam, he'd felt the sickening feeling of being completely alone. He'd known Hutch was getting the best treatment he could, but he hadn't seen his blond friend for two weeks and the reports coming back via Traff had not been the most encouraging. When Radio had taken him, Starsky had felt hopelessness – a feeling that he hoped never to experience again. Hutch hadn't been with him. The blond was sick and so turned against Starsky that rescue seemed impossible and for the second time in his life, Starsky prepared himself for the worst.

Then Hutch had shown up and Starsky's feelings ranged from thankfulness one minute to dread the next when Hutch had turned the gun on him instead of Sal. That one single moment was the worst Starsky had ever experienced. Seeing his partner aiming the deadly weapon at his head was like a poisoned lance through his heart. It hurt so badly that Starsky had almost wished for death to come so that he didn't need to hurt this way again.

When Hutch finally turned the gun on Milano instead, the relief was more than the brunet could bear and unconsciousness came too easily to him, but the clearest memory was of feeling that Hutch was back with him at the hospital. Starsky had had one fleeting, warm feeling that things were getting back to normal as Hutch walked by the side of his gurney into the ER only to have the blond turn and walk away without a backwards glance a moment later.

In that moment, Hutch took Starsky's heart with him, ripped from his chest by hopelessness and loneliness and the brunet was left feeling empty.

Traff had been the first one Starsky had telephoned when he'd come around from the anaesthetic. His friend said he would deal with things. He said he had heard where Hutch was and that he would see Hutch and get things back on track and with the heavy drug still in his system, Starsky had had nothing more to fight with and had drifted off into a deep but restless sleep.

The brunet looked down the bed. The covers couldn't conceal the heavy strapping around his left knee. It felt huge and clumsy but when he flexed the muscles in his thigh there was no lancing pain through his knee any more. There was more strapping around his chest and left shoulder – a familiar feeling since he'd had so many injuries there and that too felt better – sore, but better than it had for some time.

Later on that morning, the doctor came in to see him, checked the strapping, checked his injuries, checked his vitals and pronounced him well enough to get up and sit at the side of his bed. Never one to lie in a hospital bed for longer than he had to, Starsky was up and hobbling around before the nurse came back in to help him. He'd just come back from a successful trip to the bathroom when there was a brief knock on his door and two men walked into the room. Starsky had expected to see Traff at some point and looked up expectantly. A frown crossed his handsome but scarred features when Chun and Markham walked in and waited by the door.

Starsky limped over to the chair, threw his crutches down in disgust and lowered himself into the seat. 'Well if it aint the Do-right Brothers. I was wondern' when you two would show up' he grunted.

Markham ignored the barbed comment and drew up a chair so that he could sit opposite the brunet. Chun perched on the edge of the bed, looked uncomfortable and then stood, waiting at the side of his partner.

'We have questions and they can't wait. You seemed eager enough to fuck up the assignment so we assumed you'd be happy to answer questions now.'

Starsky sighed and looked pityingly at the Fed. 'I did not, as you so colourfully put it, fuck up the assignment. The FBI seems pretty good at doing that all on their own. My partner was in trouble, in fact, as it turns out, his cover was blown long ago, probably because you two were hangin' around him like flies around a dog's mess without actually lifting a finger to do anything useful.'

'But you…..'

'Did nuthin' Starsky interrupted angrily. 'I was in a bar. Hutch walked in, I went over to see him and the next I knew I was danglin' from a rope back at the fuckin' factory. It may have escaped your notice, but they've done sumthin to my partner. They've screwed his head so that he don't know if it's Christmas or Tuesday. And all because you two turkeys didn't watch his back. If I hadn't managed to get him, and me, outa there, there would have been two less cops on the Bay City streets.'

'You're no hero in this sergeant' Markham started angrily.

'I never said I was. But I'm a competent cop and I look out for my partner and right now I'm tellin' ya, he's sick. They screwed with his head. He was never gonna succeed with his assignment coz Milano was gonna kill him.'

'He's a suspect. He let Milano go. Explain that, Mr "I'm a super cop" Starsky.' Chun interjected.

Starsky shook his head in disbelief. 'How the hell did you two ever pass grade school huh? Or does the bureau employ cretins for some special reason? He rescued me…..on his own. And you know why he was on his own? Oh yeah, let me think. Could it be because YOU TWO DIDN'T BACK HIM UP.? I was out of it, Hutch was on his own against Sal and his two main goons. What would you have done? No, don't answer that, coz I'm not speakin' to two average guys, you two would sooner sell your Moms than help a partner. Well let me put the record straight for ya both. My partner, Ken Hutchinson, is as straight as a die. He'd sooner lose his right arm than lose a turkey like Milano, but even more than that, he'd sooner lose Milano than his partner – me. Does that answer your question?'

Markham glared at the injured cop. 'It doesn't answer why he was undercover for two months and still failed to get us the identity of the mole' he said coldly.

'Maybe because he didn't know it. He told me Milano was tight and that he did his business for the most part privately. Hutch knew it was someone from IA, but that's all he knew.'

'That doesn't seem much for two months work. I thought you and he were meant to be the hot shots of the organisation' Chun muttered.

'We're good, competent cops, nuthin more. And as for Hutch not getting' a name, he came closer than either of you two and he sacrificed a helluva lot to get that far. Now he needs help, not the bureau comin' down on him like a ton of bricks.'

'He um…. he refused any help' Markham muttered.

'You've seen him?'

'We had to hold a de-briefing, yeah.'

'A de….. You mean you took him in and questioned him?' Starsky said angrily.

'What else where we meant to do? He was undercover and the assignment had come to a close. It's procedure.'

Starsky pointed his left index finger at the two suits, winced when the action pulled at his torn muscles and switched to his right hand. 'You have no idea. Do you realise what he's been through? The Cougars brainwashed him. They questioned him night and day for two weeks. When we got him away from 'em, the only treatment open to the shrink was to try the whole process again to break down the conditioning. He's exhausted. He's drivin' on empty and you two freaks take him back to a strange place, stick him in a room and question him again?'

'Well we didn't…..' Chun looked distinctly uncomfortable.

'You didn't think! All you care about is your fuckin' job and you forget that at the other end is a human life that's just been screwed. Get out! Get outa this room and don't bother comin' back. My partner is safe and I'm gonna make sure he stays that way. You don't need me, ya made that clear months ago so now there aint nuthin gonna stop me from making sure he gets the care he needs and when he's better, we'll be back on the streets again.

Together.

Starsky and Hutch.

Partners.


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31**

'I want a new partner.' Hutch sat in the familiar office belonging to Captain Dobey but behind the big solid desk now, Fargo sat, bushy eyebrows and twinkling blue eyes looking slightly amused.

'Did I just hear right?' he asked, pretending to drill out his ear with his finger.

'I'm not in the mood Fargo. You might be assuming Dobey's role but you don't get to piss me around. You heard me straight enough. I want a new partner, now.'

_It had been two weeks since Hutch had been released from the clutches of the FBI. Two weeks during which for the most part he'd hidden out at a cabin in the hills belonging to the brother of an old girlfriend. _

_He'd been at Huggy's for two days initially. For the most part, he'd slept and when he had finally had the energy to open his eyes and make his entrance back into the world of the living, he'd been disinclined to talk to Huggy or to Traff.__ Talking was too difficult. It was almost more energy than he had to open his eyes and face his friends and when he did, he felt like they too were grilling him for information. Did he need anything? Did he want a drink? Some food? Sleep? On a fundamental level, Hutch knew they were trying to help him, but a question was a question was a question and the blond had had enough of them to last a lifetime. _

_On top of that was the knowledge that he'd tried to kill Starsky, not once, but twice and that both times it had been clear in his mind that it was the right thing to do. Hutch felt as though he were the biggest bastard the planet had ever seen. He knew for sure now that the brunet was not the bad guy Sal had made him out to be. In fact Starsky was, as he'd been told, closer to him than a brother and when he had the energy to reason it out, Hutch was aware that only a true friend would have done everything Starsky had done for Hutch with only violence and insults in return._

_That alone made Hutch feel dirty in mind and spirit. The thoughts bombarded his consciousness and wouldn't leave him alone for a moment. He'd tried to kill Starsky. He'd hurt his friend. He'd been so vicious towards the brunet as only a man who knew him like a brother could be. How could he have done it? How could he have allowed Salvador Milano to break him so completely and in such a short space of time._

_Hutch knew that he had let everyone down Starsky most of all and in the most direct way by leading him back into the Cougar's lair. But he'd let down Dobey and now his Captain was paying the price in Memorial. He'd let down Traff because the doctor's treatment hadn't worked, he'd let down Bob Tyler who'd spent so much time with him and he'd let down Huggy. Hutch wasn't sure how he'd done that, but he'd hurt everyone else so he felt justified in blaming himself for that, the global downturn in share prices, global warming, the decline of the great white shark and the second world war._

_For the most part. Hutch remained inside himself. He responded to direct questions with a nod or a shake of the head and he drank water when he was absolutely forced to. With no appetite, the blond refused to eat and at the end of the second day, he knew he'd had enough of the tender loving care from both Traff and Huggy. He needed to get out, spend time on his own and try to figure out the mess he and everyone else was in._

_The soldier had tried to get Hutch to come back with him to the Army base. He'd tried to explain to Hutch that now the incident with the Cougars was over and Starsky was safe, Bob Tyler felt he could get much further with the blond's treatment. The thought of yet more rounds of intensive questions however, left Hutch feeling sick to his stomach. For the past weeks he felt that not__hing else had happened in his life other than men from all walks of life interrogating him and now he needed silence, space and the luxury of thinking when he felt strong enough to face his demons. So he'd said an emphatic "no" to Traff, thanked the soldier for all his help and then flatly refused to even contemplate going to visit Starsky in the hospital, or at home when he was discharged two days later._

_Why, Hutch reasoned, would Starsky even want him in the same room? He'd been such a complete bastard to the smaller man that even if Starsky did miraculously accept Hutch's company, the blond felt unable to face his partner. It was Starsky's eyes that did it, each and every time. They say the eyes are the windows to a man's soul but in the brunet's case that was the absolute truth. Those deep indigo eyes were the most expressive he'd ever seen in either man or woman. Starsky's eyes reflected every feeling the man possessed and the brunet didn't need words to let the world know what he was thinking. Women became lost in their inky depths but Hutch knew them best of all. He'd seen them reflect affection, friendship, laughter and also pain, fear and lately a compassion for Hutch that seemed to know no bounds. It was those eyes that Hutch was afraid of most of all and it was the eyes he wanted to avoid. Hutch knew he would be unable to bear it if Starsky turned that familiar penetrating gaze on him and there was an absence of friendship. It would be unbearable not only because of the loss, but because Hutch would have caused it all himself. No, Hutch reasoned, it was best to go away, giving space and time the distance needed for both men to heal, physically and mentally._

_So, on the morning of his third day at Huggy's, Hutch had got up early, showered and shaved almost mechanically and while Traff and Huggy were having breakfast, the blond scribbled a quick note assuring them he was fine and that he would be gone a couple of days after which he would promise to ring them. He made his getaway, took a cab back to Venice Place, packed an overnight bag and took his old beater out of the garage Helene had loaned him._

_It felt good to be back in the rusted surroundings of his LTD. For Hutch, the Jag had been a symbol of everything he didn't want in life – unnecessary luxury and ostentation and although it drove like a dream and never once broke down, the blond knew he wouldn't trade it for his own, dilapidated but comfortable set of wheels. He stopped at a phone booth and made a quick call to Clarice, his old flame and got permission to use the cabin. It was remote, had few luxuries but nature would be all around him and he would have space to think and breathe._

_For two weeks Hutch stayed up in the hills. He fished, hunted a little but only to catch food enough for meals, slept uneasily and for the most part meditated, trying to find his centre again. It was difficult. Thoughts came too easily into his blond head and none of them were particularly happy. Several times, Hutch found himself uncrossing his legs and getting up stiffly to walk around the hills as though trying to find a place to bury his thoughts and leave them behind him, but each night he would return to the cabin, eat and then sleep, to dream dreams of Starsky and Sal. By the end of the second week of his self imposed exile, he felt that he'd done all he could to reconcile his actions. He hadn't come to terms with them as much as found an uneasy existence with them, but the one thing Hutch knew for sure was that, come what may, for his own sanity and for Starsky's safety, he could no longer work with the brunet._

Captain Fargo studied the blond cop carefully. He'd had several conversations with Agents Markham and Chun and had read the file on the Cougar's case. Hutch hadn't exactly covered himself in glory, to Fargo's mind, but he was also more than a little angry that the Feds hadn't taken into account the opinions of Sergeant Starsky. Fargo knew from bitter experience that Starsky could be a regular pain in the ass. He was loud, opinionated, excitable and easily driven to temper, but at the same time, there was no denying that he was an excellent detective, one of Bay City's finest and where he and Hutch were concerned there wasn't another duo who could compete.

Facts, however, were facts, and there was also no denying that Hutch had had Salvador Milano and his two main henchmen in his sites and yet had done nothing to effect an arrest. There was also the troubling account from Starsky himself and then from the Feds that Hutch was not himself and that he had suffered some sort of maltreatment at the hands of the group.

Fargo didn't need to be a doctor to identify the still wild look in Hutch's eyes. They held a hunted quality that even two weeks in the mountain air had been unable to erase. Without even reading the notes, it would be clear to a blind man on a galloping horse that Hutch was far from fully recovered. Maybe this request was the get out clause that Fargo had been looking for.

The section had been short handed since both Hutch and Starsky had taken sick leave and there was a mountain of paperwork building up. With Dobey still not due back to work, Fargo saw this as his opportunity to shine and show his superiors that he could cut the grade, but it wouldn't look good to be behind with the files. He smiled wryly to himself and finally nodded gravely.

'I can understand that Hutch. You've been through a lot recently. Unfortunately, I don't have anyone else I can partner you with at the moment, but I do have a job you can do until the right man comes along.'

'And that would be?' Hutch asked suspiciously. He was anxious to get back out onto the streets to prove as much to himself as to anyone else that he was still fit to be a cop, but Fargo seemed too ready to accede to his wishes.

'I need someone with your experience to make sure the new intake of rookies are getting the right stuff down on paper. You know what these kids are like – they're happy to go around firing their guns but they still don't understand that convictions don't appear without solid evidence to back it up.'

'Bullshit Fargo. You want me to be a desk jockey.'

The Captain saw the angry look in Hutch's eyes but ignored it. 'That's your choice Hutchinson. Either ride with Starsky or get the paperwork done. You decide.'

'I need to do what I'm good at. I need to be out there working the streets' Hutch muttered unhappily. The choice of being behind a desk on his own or being out in the city with his former partner seemed no choice at all, but Fargo's face was set and for once the blond knew there was no point in arguing. Hutch sighed deeply. 'One proviso. If I do the desk work, I want a separate office, or at least a change of desk. Somewhere out of the way of…..' he couldn't bring himself to say "Starsky" but the implication hung in the air. It shocked Fargo to the core, but at the same time also played to the Captain's advantage. Markham had suggested he kept an eye on Hutch to make sure he didn't go off the wall completely and he couldn't properly do that when the blond was in the squad room, especially not opposite the man he used to work with. Fargo was tough, but not insensitive.

'Fine. For the time being, I'll move a desk into the small room down the hall. That way we can deal with the files together. When are you coming back?'

'Today' the blond said firmly and sat back as Fargo set about making the necessary arrangements.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32**

Starsky used the side of his arm to wipe the condensation from the bathroom mirror, looked carefully at his reflection and grunted. The bruises across his nose and eyes had faded to an unbecoming yellow and the cut across the bridge of his nose had healed leaving nothing more than a thin red line. Further south, after two weeks of intensive physiotherapy with the woman of his dreams, Cathy Brewer, the local sadist and physiotherapist, his shoulder was now fully functional though sore and his knee was well on the way to mending.

The brunet walked with only a slight limp now, and although the limb remained surrounded by strapping, he'd been declared fit for work. Now it only remained to see Hutch again and Starsky hoped that things would return very much to normal. He hadn't seen the blond since Hutch had deposited him at the hospital that night. He'd spoken to Traff and then to Huggy about Hutch's state of mind and although both of them assured Starsky that the blond was well on the road to recovery and had gone to the hills for peace and quiet reflection, Starsky worried. It wasn't like Hutch to close him out so completely. They'd never been apart voluntarily for so long. Sure there had been undercover jobs that had kept them apart, but even then there had been some contact. Now, it was as though Hutch wanted to cut Starsky out of his life and the brunet hurt.

He tried not to blame Hutch. It wasn't in Starsky's nature to be vindictive or to bear grudges, but he couldn't help feeling that whilst Hutch had had a hard time of it, it was he, Starsky who was the victim and yet he was being made to feel like a pariah, a feeling he'd had before and which didn't sit comfortably.

Starsky had heard from Traff that Hutch had gone back to work the day before. That hurt most of all – to know that his partner hadn't even been able to find it in him to see Starsky to explain. At the back of the brunet's mind, there were nagging doubts. Would Hutch watch his back like he had done before? What was going on in that flaxen head? And most of all, could they ever regain what seemed to have been lost, ripped from them by some flake who's only ambition in life was to build a retirement fund from ill gotten gains.

The brunet limped over to the coat stand by the door. He pulled on his holster, took his Smith and Wessen from the locked cupboard, checked the clip and put it safely in the soft chamois leather holster beneath his right arm. Shouldering into his worn brown leather jacket, he stowed his handcuffs into his back pocket and for the last time, got into brown Caddy loaned from the insurance company after Huggy's had been crashed. He'd arranged with Huggy to leave the vehicle at Merle's so that he could pick up his Torino and take it into work and he stared with distaste at the old fashioned shiny interior, muttering under his breath.

The drive over to the paint shop was pleasant enough and as he arrived at the wire netted compound, he could see his red and white baby waiting for him by Merle's ramshackle office. Parking the Caddy out of the way, Starsky got out and trotted as fast as his sore knee would allow over to the Torino, lovingly caressing the roof and hood like a long lost lover. 'Come to Daddy baby' he crooned as his fingers trailed over the gleaming red paintwork. Merle came out of his office, wiping his hands on an oily rag and beamed at the brunet.

'You tuned her up?' Starsky asked.

'I soiled my hands on your white man's trash, yes' Merle said.

'And you didn't tweak the paintwork. Nice.'

'No, I did not as you so carefully say "tweak" that lame ass excuse for a paint job. Ordinarily I wouldn't have that piece of junk on my pre-mises, but for a friend of Huggy Bear's, I gritted my pearly whites and did the bare minimum.'

'So, you tuned her up' Starsky confirmed again, suspiciously.

'I tuned her up, I oiled her down and I made her into a ve-hicle that any self respectin' brother would be happy to be seen in' Merle announced proudly.

'You did what? Merle, please, all I wanted was the plugs cleanin' and….fuck!' Starsky peered into the interior of the car and groaned. The once black leather seats had been replaced with bright red and yellow checked material and a matching cover hid the matt black dashboard. 'You destroyed my baby' the brunet wailed. 'I don't believe you did that! Where are my seats? What have you done? Merle, so help me I'm gonna…..'

The mechanic held up his hands, an offended look on his face. 'Whoa there man. Don't get yourself twisted around in circles. Like I say, I improved her. Don't you like it?'

'It's…..it's hideous. It's….I have no words…..Merle I'm gonna…..' There was a peel of laughter from the back of the small office and suddenly Huggy Bear appeared laughing so hard he was holding his stomach.

'Oh man! I wish I'd have had a camera…or a tape machine or somethin'. That was priceless. That was….'

'Cruel, unnecessary and painful. What has he done? Where's the seats? The beautiful black leather seats?' Starsky spluttered.

'Underneath the seat covers! We figured you'd had a hard time and you needed somethin' to laugh about. You gotta see the joke Starsk' Huggy gasped.

'I'm glad to see two turkeys who're takin' advantage of a sick and injured friend' the brunet replied in wounded tones. Carefully he opened the door and with great ceremony took off the offending covers, handing them back to Merle by his fingertips as if touching them would somehow burn him. Once undressed, he looked again at his car, back to its former glory and sighed contentedly.

'All I need now is Hutch back in one piece and my life is complete' he mumbled as he got into the dark, black, sombre interior and drove quickly away from red and yellow checks, cruel black men and Huggy's brown Caddy.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Matt Kane sat in the cafeteria of Bay City 9th Precinct with his friend and fellow rookie detective Liam Finn. The sipped at the coffee contentedly and looked around them appreciatively.

'This is where we were meant to be Liam' Matt said confidently.

'Sure is. After busting my ass at college it didn't seem right to be touring the city with some wizened old cop booking jay walkers and drunks' Liam replied in tones that indicated he too was where he felt he belonged.

'Uh huh. Three years of criminology and I got to ride in some clapped out black and white with Bernie McHugh. He was 50 if he was a day. He smoked like a factory chimney, swore like a marine and couldn't have run down a flake if his life depended on it. At least now we get to do some real police work.'

'Yeah, but not together. I don't see that. Why can't we be partnered? I mean we already know more than any of these old timers do. My God most of 'em flunked grade school.' Liam put down his cup and stared morosely at the chipped table top, shaking his head sagely.

The two men had completed their time at the Academy together having come direct from college. They were the perfect example of the new wave of cop hitting the Bay City Force after Jerry Brown suggested that cops should be more brain and less brawn*. Liam Finn was of Irish descent as his name suggested. He had the dark brown hair, fresh complexion and twinkling green eyes that went with the race and at 5' 10" was stocky rather than athletic. He was a product of the best schools and colleges that Virginia had to offer but became less enamoured of the weather in Richmond and decided after graduation that his heart and preferred lifestyle lay in California.

Finn's somewhat schoolboy sense of humour was perfectly foiled by Matthew Kane's straight face and dour personality. Born and bred in San Diego California he too had attended the best private schools before completing his education at the University of California. Kane was everyone's idea of the perfect American Boy. He was tall at a whisker over 6'3" and weighed 200lbs of solid muscle. Kane prided himself on his physique and worked out constantly to keep his washboard abs and bulging biceps in top condition and rippling beneath his clear and golden tanned skin. Shining bright blue eyes shone out humourlessly from a handsome but boyish face. His father had always told him that jokes did not equate to money or success and over the years any humour Kane had ever been born with had been strictly eradicated, leaving an all business working machine.

Secretly, Matt Kane and Liam Finn wanted stardom. They both fantasised about being Bay City's finest – attending civic ceremonies to be decorated by the Mayor and single handedly eradicating crime from the streets of the city. Both young men were in their early 20s, had spent as little time as street cops as was decent and had relied on their education (and Kane's father's influence with the Chief of Police) to obtain Detective 3rd class status as soon as they could. While Kane's father was a wealthy business man who gave freely to police charities but expected favours in return, Finn's family took the more direct approach and came to see Captain Fargo, presenting him with a case of fine wine, a supply of finest Cuban cigars and promises of a table waiting for him whenever he wanted at La Gauguin, the most expensive restaurant in the City.

Fargo was flattered and impressed. He readily accepted the offers – after all, he'd taken on this difficult role of Captain at short notice and for very little extra pay so he may as well reap as many rewards as he could while the job was still his – and promised faithfully that Liam Finn and his friend Matt Kane would be well looked after and given as many opportunities to shine as Fargo could manage.

Now the two young men got up, put their empty cup on the side trolley and squared their shoulders.

'Ready?' Liam Finn asked.

'Question is, are they ready for us?' Kane replied and headed confidently out of the cafeteria.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Starsky drove through the downtown streets, hung a quick left and was about to draw up in his customary spot right outside the front door of the Metro when he saw a showy white Mercedes occupying his space. With a grunt and a sigh, the brunet swerved, pulled into the police garage and parked up. He got out of the car, rubbed at his knee and carefully straightened and flexed it a few times to ease out the stiffness and then, with measured steps to disguise his limp, he walked into the building and up the stairs to the first floor. It wouldn't do for Fargo to see that he was still lame and most of all, Starsky wanted to avoid being deskbound for the next few weeks.

He walked down the familiar corridor and turned right into the squad room, bracing himself to see Hutch again. It had been a long time – too long and despite himself, Starsky worried about how his partner would be. They had always relied on each other, watched each other's backs and (without making it overdramatic) saved each others lives more than once. But things had changed. Starsky wasn't stupid enough to think that they would merely pick up where they'd left off before, but he hoped that with just a little effort, they could resume their partnership and more importantly their friendship. He was open to the possibilities, but it remained to see whether Hutch was too.

The squad room was fairly empty when the brunet entered. The door to Dobey's…..no, scratch that…. Fargo's office was closed and there were muffled voices from behind it. Other than that, a couple of the guys lifted their heads and greeted Starsky, making usual comments about him taking more sick leave than the rest of the team put together, but it was in good spirit and Starsky grinned back at them, glad of the camaraderie.

The desk opposite the curly haired cop's, however, looked deserted. Hutch was not the tidiest of workers and usually there were files open, shavings from the pencil he'd sharpened lying amongst Styrofoam cups and bits of carbon paper lying drunkenly on the desk top. Now, the workspace was tidy, empty even, and even the piggy bank was missing.

Starsky looked around, nonplussed. He had a bad feeling and his heart rate hiked up a notch, but he was just about to ask one of the other guys what was going on when the door to Fargo's office opened and Jim Mellor one of the other squad members came out with a young dark haired man in tow. Mellor smiled wanly at Starsky, raised his eyes subtly heavenwards and though gritted teeth made the introductions.

'Dave Starsky, meet Liam Finn, my new partner.'

'Partner? You?' Starsky grinned. 'Well you sure pissed someone off big style.'

'Laugh it up Curly. Our new Captain wants you in there next. Brace yourself' Mellor grunted as he left with the fresh faced young detective in tow like an eager puppy.

Starsky walked into the inner office without knocking. He didn't knock when Dobey was in residence so he didn't think it worth starting now. Fargo was sat behind Dobey's desk, drinking coffee from Dobey's cup and that one action ate at Starsky's nerves even before the acting Captain opened his mouth. It took a moment, however, to realise that Fargo wasn't alone and Starsky looked fleetingly at the tall boy sitting carelessly in the chair by the wall.

'You wanted me?' Starsky asked. 'Where's Hutch? Is he ok?'

Fargo braced himself. He'd looked forwards to this moment, never having particularly liked Starsky, but now he was here and he saw the dangerous light in the brunet's eyes, Fargo's confidence took a knock.

'Hutch is um….. Well he's on another job for a while.'

'Is he ok? I mean I thought….'

'He's fine. He requested the change. In the meantime, Dave Starsky, meet your new partner Matt Kane.'

*Words only attributed to Governor Brown for the sake of this story. I have no real idea of his political views on the police force at the time. No libel is intended.


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33**

Starsky glared at Fargo, trying to process the news that somehow he'd got a new partner without ever knowing about it.

'I don't think I heard ya right' he said carefully, looking from the Captain to the youngster sat quietly in the chair he and Hutch usually occupied.

'Yes you did. There's been a change of plan and so long as you're fit, you'll be riding with Detective Kane' Fargo explained calmly. He looked at the fleeting anger crossing Starsky's face and waited for the explosion. It never came.

The brunet stopped in his tracks, for once in his life lost for words. It had hurt that Hutch had tried to kill him, but he'd put it down to the conditioning Sal had subjected him to. It had hurt more that the blond had rescued him only to leave him at the hospital to be cared for alone. When his partner had left alone to go for a sabbatical in the woods, Starsky had tried hard to reason with himself that Hutch needed space and time to deal with his treatment, but this was something else! Not only had the blond come back to work without telling him, he'd also obviously spoken with Fargo behind Starsky's back in order to change assignments. Only pride stopped Starsky asking where Hutch was, pride and the look of satisfaction on Fargo's face.

What was going through Hutch's head? Had Bob Tyler been able to do nothing to help the blond? Was this really it? – the end of the best friendship Starsky had ever experienced? Starsky's knees seemed to go week with the realisation that Hutch didn't want to work with him – that his years of working with his best friend had finally come to a close, finished not by some flake's bullet as they'd always assumed, but by insidious suggestions implanted by an evil bald headed megalomaniac. Stupidly, the brunet felt a tear prick at the corner of his eye and he blinked it away quickly. This wasn't the time or the place. But he also felt embarrassed – that everyone else seemed to know of Hutch's plans while he'd been kept in the dark. What were they all thinking? What was going on in Fargo's head? And what the hell was Matt Kane making of all this?

The curly haired cop tore his attention away from the man trying to be his Captain and instead examined the young man sitting in the chair opposite. Kane regarded him calmly, matching his gaze second by second. The young man was sitting casually, leaning back, arm draped casually over his knee with one ankle resting on the other leg. He was self assured and had not one jot of nerves, unlike how Starsky had been on his first day as a Detective.

Taking a breath to steady himself Starsky stowed away his feelings of hurt and nodded at him. 'You startin' today?'

'Yes I am.' The voice was calm and almost authoritative – as though Kane had been born to do this. Starsky felt even smaller and covered it up by getting down to business. He wasn't employed for small talk. He was a cop for heaven's sake and top of his list was finding Salvador Milano and Radio, his main man.

'Well don't sit there, we got work to do' the brunet snapped and walked out of the office. Kane got up and smiled knowingly at Fargo as if to say that he'd soon have the recalcitrant cop eating out of his hand and walked slowly from the office to find Starsky rummaging through his desk.

'Sorry, I thought we were in a hurry' Matt said loudly enough for the others to overhear.

'I'm lookin' for sumthin' Starsky said from the depths of his desk.

'Anything I can help you with?'

'Not unless you've seen a pig.'

For a moment, Kane thought that it was a wind up. After all, in the current vernacular, he was in a room full of "pigs". 'Huh?'

The curly head came up and Starsky fixed his new partner with a strained gaze. 'A pig. A pot piggy bank. It's missin'. Hey, guys' the brunet threw out to the room. 'Anyone seen Percy.'

'Hutch took him off the desk' Milovski offered from the other side of the office.

'And he took him where?' Starsky asked carefully.

'Next door. He's doin' some stuff for Fargo. Didn't he tell ya?' the big man asked looking confused. It was well known that Starsky and Hutch were joined at the hip. Kick one and the other limped.

Starsky scowled and swallowed down the huge hurt rising up his chest. 'Must've slipped his mind' he muttered. 'C'mon kid. Time for action' he said to cover his feelings and headed for the door.

From the next door office, Hutch bent his head over his paperwork. He'd heard Starsky's unmistakable footfalls coming up the corridor earlier and had also heard Fargo asking him into his office. He braced himself for the explosion he felt must surely follow. He hadn't wanted to face Starsky to explain why he wanted the break. Hutch felt he couldn't stand the hurt in his former partner's eyes if he tried to explain, because, to be honest, the blond wasn't sure why he wanted the break either. All Hutch knew was that he felt as though he had let Starsky down so badly in the past months that he would be incapable of watching the brunet's back out on the streets. And yet it wasn't just as simple as that. Although Hutch admitted he'd done some terrible things, some part of Sal's conditioning still remained lodged in his brain, blocking the final closure of the episode. Although he remembered every word and every action as though they were yesterday and although Hutch acknowledged that Starsky was indeed his friend, some part of his mind still tried to rationalise what he'd done and what Sal had sold to him as the truth. While Hutch was still unsure of his feelings and the facts, the one thing he knew for certain was that he was in no fit state to keep anyone safe,, least of all Dave Starsky.

Hutch heard the door to the squad room burst open and held his breath, waiting for Starsky to appear at the door. He braced himself for the yelling, the swearing and the recriminations along with the gut wrenching sorrow in Starsky's voice, but it never came. He would have felt better if Starsky had yelled at him, hit him even, but the brunet had remained steadfastly calm and understanding. To Hutch, that's what annoyed him most of all.

The blond heard footsteps coming towards his small office next to the squad room and froze, but the footsteps passed and Starsky's voice could be heard from further down the corridor, telling someone to hurry up. With a sigh, Hutch went back to his form filling, trying to ignore the deep well of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

Starsky walked over to the steps and started down them, favouring his strapped up knee. Behind him Matt Kane watched as the curly haired man limped down the final corridor and out of the door onto the sidewalk.

'Your car or mine?' the youngster asked innocently.

'Mine.' Starsky replied without stopping to condiser.

'OK.' Kane shrugged and followed Starsky around to the garage but as the brunet prepared to get into the Torino, Kane stopped him.

'Dave?'

'The name's Starsky. No one uses my first name other than my Mom' the brunet said coldly.

'Fine, Starsky. I get the impression you don't want me as your partner.'

Starsky glared back. 'Gee, sorry to hurt your feelings but I have a partner already.'

'Where? I don't see him?'

'It's a long story.'

Kane sighed. 'We seem to have time. Look, I don't know what's gone on before, but we're gonna be riding in that um….' he looked critically at the Torino as though it were the most lame ass car he'd ever seen. '… your car for a while. The least we can do is try to get to know each other.'

'Look kid. I was told to partner ya, but I don't have to like it and there aint nuthin in the rule book that says we have to become bosom buddies. All I ask is that you watch my back an' I'll watch yours, ok?'

'If that's how you want to do it, yeah, sure. I just thought the days would go…..'

Starsky got into the car and slammed the door as Kane got into the other side. 'I didn't ask for an opinion. Grab the check list, let's go through it huh? Got your gun?'

Kane tapped the holster hiding under his smart black leather jacket. 'Glock 17. It has 17 bullets as opposed to the usual 15 and it's lightweight. What's yours?'

'Smith and Wessen' the brunet grunted.

'Right. A lot of old timers carry those' Kane said knowingly.

Starsky slammed his fist on the steering wheel and glared at the younger man. 'Just how old are you Kane?'

'23.'

'Well this here old timer is 28. 5 years don't make me old enough to your Granddaddy exactly so lets dispense with the comments huh? I need you to shudup, sit back and don't do nuthin unless I ask.'

Kane put his hands up in mock surrender, but there was laughter behind his eyes. 'So where are we going first Bwana?'

'To see a snitch over on the east side. Micky's a little rat but if anyone knows whats goin' down in the city he usually does.'

'And we're looking for……?'

'One Salvador Milano.'

'Never heard of him' Kane said watching the city whiz past the Torino. Much as he hated to admit it, Starsky was one hell of a driver.

'No reason you should have done. He was the flake responsible for….. Never mind. Let's just say I have a vested interest in makin' sure he's behind bars.'

The two men cruised for a while in silence. 'You known this Micky long?'

Starsky rubbed at his nose with his left hand. 'Long enough. He's flighty, he don't trust no-one much. He needs to be handled quietly ya know. That's part of the job, knowin' how to handle the turkeys we meet.'

Kane stared into space for a moment. 'What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving how express and admirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god!'

The brunet cast a look sideways as though Kane had just launched into fluid Swahili. 'Huh?'

'Hamlet, Act 2 Scene 2. You know….. William Shakespeare?'

'Is he the new guy in records?' Starsky asked innocently.

'You're telling me you've never read Shakespeare?' Kane asked incredulously.

'No! He never reads any of my stuff! Why, do you?'

Matt looked out of the window a note of superiority coming into his voice. 'I read him at college and again when I was doing my degree. I found him very profound. What about "Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste death but once"? – Julius Caesar.'

'Don't care who said it' Starsky grunted. 'Death is death is death. Don't matter how it happens, it's always final.'

'Oh very profound! Were you taught that in your degree?'

'Don't have one. I barely made it through grade school. I learned my philosophies in the school of life, there aint a school better.'

Kane shook his head. 'I disagree. I feel my degree in Criminology has given me a far better insight into the criminals of this city. I learned psychoanalysis, functionalism, interactionism, Marxism, econometrics, systems theory, postmodernism and…..'

'Did you learn when to keep your mouth shut?' Starsky interrupted. 'We're here. Like I said, Micky's a good snitch and its taken me and ….. well its taken me a long time to gain his trust. I don't want some wet behind the ears college boy ruinin' it. Got it?'

'Why don't I just stay in the car?' Kane asked almost sulkily.

'Damned good idea' the brunet grunted, got out of the Torino and trotted over to the little man lurking in the alley.

Starsky gave Micky a cigarette, lit it for the little man and stood back while Micky took an appreciative drag. 'Where's um….where's Hutch?' he asked, his eyes drating around restlessly.

'Taking a break. Micky what do you know about a turley called Milano. Salvador Milano?' Starsky asked.

The little man looked uncomfortable. 'Enough to know it's not healthy to talk about him.'

'Not even for your next fix? You look like you're twithin' there Micky.'

'That's not fair Mr Starsky, you know it's tough for me….'

The brunet waved a ten dollar bill under the little man's nose and the snitch almost salivated in anticipation of another shot of horse to quell the pains in his stomach.

'I….I dunno. He's um…..the Cougars aint dealin' right now.'

'No? I could see that. But where's Milano?'

Micky took a look around him and back at the paper money. He swallowed convulsively and finally snatched at the money, pushing it deep into his pocket. 'He;s holed up at the old Waverly.'

'The hotel?'

'That's the one. The Waverly hotel. He um…..has a a couple of rooms on the top floor. He's um…..doin' business from there.'

Starsky grunted. 'He's got taste. That's a cool address.'

'Uh huh. He figured no one would look for him there.'

Starsky nodded. 'He figured without me. Thanks Mickey. Go get your stuff huh?'

The little man nodded. 'You um….he won't find out who told him, will he?'

'You're safe Micky, just stay outa trouble huh?' Starsky turned and got back into the car, sighing deeply.

'What did you give him money for?' Kane asked sharply.

'Information.'

'But you know what he's gonna use it for' the younger man protested.

'If he wants to blot out a couple of hours of his miserable life, what's it to me?'

'Yeah, but, isn't it our duty to eradicate drugs?'

Starsky snickered as he turned on the engine. 'You're a cop, this is what we do. If yo wanna change the world, the Samaritans is at the end of the block. I got what I wanted and tomorrow we go in.'

'In where?' Kane asked sharply, suddenly wondering if he wanted to go anywhere with this dark haired, angry man.

'Into the lions den. It's called retribution' the brunet muttered as he set off in a squeel of rubber.


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34**

Hutch slammed the file on his desk closed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. He'd tried for the whole of the day to concentrate on his work and stop thinking about what Starsky was doing out on the streets with his rookie "partner". He worried that the brunet would be upset and would do something crazy, it had happened before but then, Hutch had been there to keep the curly haired cop safe. This time, Hutch was here, safe at the Metro in his self imposed exile.

By 5:00pm, the blond man had had enough. His head ached, his eyes felt bone dry and his mind was working overtime. It was time to call it a day and go home, although for some inexplicable reason, Hutch didn't want to be on his own. Ordinarily, after a tough day, he would go for a drink to the Pits with Huggy and Starsky, but he didn't want to go anywhere public tonight. He wanted male company, a crate of beer and privacy. On impulse, Hutch picked up the phone on his desk and dialled Tom Trafford's number. The soldier answered on the fourth ring and agreed to come around to Hutch's place later in the evening.

With that settled, the flaxen haired man piled his files loosely on his desk, swept his pencil and pen into the small drawer, stood stiffly, switched the light out in the small office and headed for home.

Venice Place was in darkness when Hutch finally climbed the steps and fished for the key on the door lintel. He pushed into the room, flung his jacket down on the floor, shouldered out of his holster and headed for the kitchen. He took a bottle of brandy out of the back of his cupboard, grabbed a semi-clean glass from the drainer and poured a glass full of the deep amber liquid. Hutch took a deep drink, swallowed, coughed and leaned back on the countertop as he closed his eyes.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he straighten out his head? If he was set on cutting Starsky out of his life, then why did he spend the whole day worrying about him? If Starsky really wasn't to be his partner, why was Hutch listening out for his returning footsteps down the corridor, or making subtle enquiries about Matt Kane to make sure the brunet would be ok?

Too many questions. Too much to think about and even after almost two weeks in the mountains and countless hours of meditation, Hutch still couldn't figure out his feelings. Well, contemplation and solitude hadn't worked, maybe good old hard liquor would do the trick, he mused as the second half of the glass of brandy disappeared down his throat. Hutch wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, took the bottle by the neck and took it and his glass over to his sofa. After pouring another glassful, Hutch rested back on the cushions and stared at the ceiling.

By the time Traff arrived at Hutch's place at 8:00 that night, the brandy bottle was empty, the fumes were thick in the air and Hutch was slumped sideways on the sofa. Traff crossed to the blond and shook his shoulder and Hutch awoke with a start and looked blearily at the tall soldier.

'You're here' he said thickly.

'Uh huh, although it looks like I should have left you two alone. How much of this have you had Chief?' Traff took the empty bottle from the blond's grasp and set it down on the table.

'Huh? Oh, dunno. I drinked…..drank some and then some more' Hutch hiccoughed and giggled merrily.

'You need coffee?'

'Nope.'

'Are you sure' Traff asked critically. 'You're gonna suffer tomorrow.'

'S'alright…..already did that t'day.'

'What? Suffered? Are you sick?'

'No….not sick' Hutch sighed.

'Then what. Hutch, tell me buddy. What's eatin' at ya?'

For one moment it looked as though Hutch was going to burst into tears, but instead he sucked in a deep breath and scratched at his chest through the buttons of his shirt. 'Wish I knew.'

'I think I do' Traff said quietly.

'The pray tell' Hutch said expansively.

'One name.'

'Stars….. NO. Not goin' there. I's'not'im' the blond slurred. 'Not talkin' about 'im. Talk 'bout somethin' else huh?'

'Why? He's why you're feeling like shit Chief. Hutch, for God's sake, just talk to him huh? Talk to him and tell him how you feel. Why the hell can't you do at least that?'

'COZ I DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL' Hutch yelled, his eyes glaring wildly. 'Is that what you wanna hear? Is it? That after all this time my head is still so fucked I can't think about my best fr…about Starsky without my head getting screwed? Well there you are. I've said it. Now leave me alone huh?'

Traff sat down on the sofa beside Hutch and put his arm round the blond man's shoulders. 'I'm not leavin' you, ya dope. You invited me here! I am gonna make you see sense though but first I'm gonna make coffee, ok?'

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

Hutch walked slowly back to his office the next morning. If he walked too quickly it set off thunder behind his eyes and caused his stomach to protest but he didn't complain – it was, after all, self inflicted. Instead, he pushed open the door to the little office he was occupying – more a broom cupboard than an office and was just sitting down behind his desk when he heard unfamiliar voices from the squad room. Quietly, the blond got up and stood with his ear to the paper thin dividing wall, listening as Finn and Kane talked.

'Oh my God you should have heard him! He's about as educated as a Gorilla and acts like it most of the time' Kane's voice said. 'I quoted Shakespeare at him and he asked if that was someone in records! The man is an idiot savante!'

'Where did you go?'

'Well that was the next thing. My God the guy knows the worst parts of this city like the back of his hand. And the people he talks to! As if a bum is likely to tell him how to solve a case! Anyone would think he learned policing in the dark ages.'

At that moment, Hutch heard Starsky's sneakers squeaking unmistakably on the tiles of the corridor and Hutch went to sit down feeling angry at Kane and embarrassed that he should think that of one of the bravest men Hutch had ever known. Had it not been for Starsky's appearance, Hutch would probably have marched in there and torn the young detective off several strips. As it was, he kept himself in check and listened as Starsky walked into the bathroom and moments later came out again.

Waiting until the coast was clear, Hutch too went to the bathroom, locked himself into a cubicle, did what was necessary and on his way out, washed his hands and saw a bottle of pills on the porcelain. He recognised it and checked the name. !David M Starsky. To be taken 1 pill three times per day". They were the pills Starsky took to help repair his stomach. Clutching them as though they were some important part of the brunet, Hutch exited the bathroom, braced himself, walked into the squad room and walked up behind the brunet. Quietly, Hutch placed the pills on the desk next to Starsky's hand and as the brunet looked up, he said softly.

'You um….you left them in the bathroom. Your guts will hurt if you lose 'em.'

Without waiting for an answer, Hutch turned and walked away feeling absurdly emotional. At his desk, Starsky closed his hands around the small bottle and sighed. Hutch had actually spoken to him. It wasn't much, but there again, it had been civil and not caustic. The words, though very few were like balm to the brunet's soul and lifted the gloom he'd felt settling over him at the beginning of the day. There may be hope yet!

As Kane came back into the room carrying a pristine white coffee cup, however, Starsky's mood once again plummeted. He grunted, got up from his chair and nodded at the young detective before heading into Fargo's office. The would-be Captain looked up.

'Don't you know how to knock?' he asked tetchily.

'Yeah.'

'Then why don't you try it some time?'

'Waste of time' Starsky said and sat down quickly on the chair before Kane had a chance to commandeer it.

Fargo put his pen down and sat back expectantly. 'So? What's on your agenda today?'

'Salvador Milano. I know where he is and I can get him' Starsky said, obviously pleased with himself.

'Uh uh. No way. That's the Feds game. They didn't want you swimming in their soup before. What makes you think they'll want you going after Milano now?'

'They probably won't, but I'm goin' anyway.'

'No, you're not. You ring Agents Markham and Chun and you give them the information. This is their game, not yours.'

The brunet sat forward in his chair. 'This became my game when Milano took my partner.'

'Hutch is fine. If anyone should go after the Cougars it should be him'

'Well you an' I both know that can't happen now don't we? But I know where Milano is, and I'm gonna bring him in for both my and Hutch's sakes.'

Fargo's face took on the colour of a poppy. 'I'm tellin' you Starsky, stay away. Back off man and leave it to the Feds.'

'Those goons couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery!' Starsky yelled back. 'They left Hutch to rot with no support, no back up. They're about as useful as a pork pie at a Jewish weddin'.'

'So you're goin' in there all guns blazing just to avenge your partner huh?' Fargo glared at the brunet cop who glared back, eyes shining dangerously.

'No. I'm a cop, not a vigilante. I'm gonna do my job and rid my patch of one piece of shit, whether you like it or not. And if ya don't like it _Captain_, you can take it up with Dobey when we get a real Captain back!' With that, Starsky stood, turned on his heel and stalked stiff backed out of the room, slamming the door behind him and leaving Kane in the office with Fargo.

The Captain looked at the young man and sighed. 'Well son. I'm expecting you to keep him out of trouble. He's a wild card and not to be trusted. I expect you to report back to me at the end of today.'

'Don't worry Sir, I can handle him. These guys with no education rely on brawn rather than brain. I can deal with him, no problem. I'll have him back here safe and sound.'

Fargo nodded appreciatively. 'See that you do Kane. Pretty soon you'll be chosing your own partner.'

The young man walked out of the office just in time to see his erstwhile partner's back stalking down the corridor. As Kane trotted out of the squad room to catch up with Starsky, Hutch poked his head out of the small office, wondering where the brunet was going in such a huff.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35**

The Waverly Hotel stood bold and proud in the centre of down town Bay City. As Starsky drew up outside the huge edifice, he looked up at the tall, stone built building and snorted to himself. In the words of one of those inscrutable Chinese philosophers, where better to hide than in plain sight? This was no disused factory or crumbling wreck out in the boon docks. This was arguably the trendiest hotel in the city – just the sort of place where the cops would never think to look.

'What are we doing here?' Kane asked also studying the hotel curiously.

'The guy I'm interested in – Sal Milano – is holed up on the top floor. We go in, we take him down and we bring him out. Think you can handle that?' Starsky said, checking his gun and putting it back into his holster. He'd pumped a bullet into the chamber and then put on the safety. Cocked and locked they called it and when quick fire was the order of the day, the split second difference it made had saved Starsky's life more than once.

Matt Kane took out his Glock and checked his weapon too. So this was it – what he'd been dreaming of. A real life shoot out and the opportunity to prove himself. Kane had never had to draw his gun in anger. In his two years as a beat cop, he'd plodded the privileged areas of the city and the worst he'd dealt with was neighborhood disputes and quarrels over who's dog had done it on who's lawn. He'd felt bored and stunted and longed for action, taking down murderers and rapists and earning himself medals for bravery. He'd done well on the shooting ranges at the Academy and had honed his skills when he joined his Father's rifle club and yet he'd never drawn a gun in anger. Now was his chance, but for some reason, his throat had gone inexplicably dry.

'I think so. How many of them are there? Just Milano?'

'Dunno. He had two men with him last time I had the pleasure, but one of 'em was taken out then. Maybe he has the other guy with him, maybe not.'

'I love surprises' Kane said dryly. 'Anything else you want to tell me before we go in?'

'Uh huh. First, keep your head down, keep yourself safe and watch my back. I'll do the same. Second. If we find Milano inside, you leave him to me. After all he's done, his ass is mine, got it?'

Kane nodded quietly, seeing a different side to the man he'd thought of as something only marginally more advanced than a Neanderthal.

The two men got out of the car and walked into the plush reception hall of the hotel. Decked out in dove grey marble and the blackest granite, the vast area echoed to their footsteps and the pretty receptionist looked up and graced them with a beaming, if fake smile.

'May I help you?' She said, already lost in the indigo blue depths of the handsome cop's eyes.

'Yeah, maybe' Starsky smiled. 'Can you tell me which room Salvador Milano is using?'

The woman shook herself visibly. 'I'm sorry Sir, I can't tell you which room, but I could telephone head to Mr Milano's room for you?'

'I don't think that would be a good idea' Starsky grinned and held out his shield for her to check. 'I think we'd like to keep our visit a surprise.'

The woman nodded knowingly and seemed impressed. 'Oh, um…..yes' she dimpled. 'I shouldn't really…..but you're cops and um….. it's 509 on the fifth floor. Turn right out of the elevator and its half way along the corridor.'

Starsky smiled at the girl, reached out and took her hand and planted a kiss on its back, all the time transfixing her with his sapphire gaze. She melted, hardly breathing until the brunet released her and walked away. At his back he heard a muffled snort.

'Smooth. Very smooth' Kane chuckled.

'Glad there's something us thickies can teach you college guys' the older cop grunted as he stepped into the elevator car. As the door closed, the receptionist picked up the telephone and dialed room 509.

'Mr Milano. You have two cops coming up to see you right now. I thought you should know.'

The voice on the other end of the line sighed. 'Thank you Melissa, you're very kind. I will have a little extra something slipped into your wage packet at the end of the week.'

Starsky watched the lights in the elevator car wink in and out counting off the floors as they climbed higher. As he waited, he took out his gun and slipped it into the waistband of his jeans. Kane watched him curiously.

'Better being safe than sorry' the brunet explained as the car stopped. The doors opened with a quiet whoosh and the two men stepped out onto a close carpeted corridor framed by subtle and nondescript paintings on the wall. As they started walking down the hall, however, a door opened behind them and Starsky heard the click of a hammer on a gun being pulled back.

The brunet reacted quicker than a rattler could strike. Even before Kane had chance to yelp, Starsky had dived sideways and had knocked the younger man to the ground, huddled behind a chest of drawers upon which was an oversized floral display. A bullet whistled past their hiding place and impacted with the plaster of the wall a yard from Starsky's head, sending plaster fragments spraying across the corridor.

'What the….' Kane stammered, his face whiter than a ghost.

'Radio – Sal's main man' Starsky muttered under his breath. 'Shudup and keep your head down and when I say ready, cover me, huh?'

'Cover ….? Oh yeah, cover you. Right' Kane mumbled, fumbling with his pistol to disengage the safety.

'You ready?' the brunet hissed. 'I'm gonna make for the door over there. If I can get to Milano while you hold that goon off, we got this sewn up. Ready?'

For a moment, Matt Kane thought he was going to throw up right then and there on the beautiful deep blue carpet. He hadn't expected to feel this way. His Father had ensured that he'd had easy assignments throughout his career so far – enough so that he could look as though he were doing well, while still being able to keep safe. Now, however, he was in the thick of it, and it didn't feel like he thought it would. Kane had expected to feel like a hero, saving the beautiful woman and coming out bloodied but unbowed to receive medals and commendations from the Mayor. Now, however, he felt only nausea. His head pounded and his hand could hardly grip the gun for the trembling in his arm. He swallowed hard, tried to get his pounding heart under control and nodded.

'Gotcha' he managed to whisper through lips gone bone dry.

Starsky gripped his own gun tighter, got to his knees and ducked his head over the flower display. Radio was standing by the door to the connecting room to 509 and looking directly at the two cops. He had them pinned down, but Starsky hadn't come this far just to back down now. He wondered briefly how Milano had known they were here and grunted. It could only have been the pretty girl downstairs.

The brunet patted Kane's shoulder. 'Ready? One, two, three' and with that, the brunet stood, making a dash for the doorway to 509. Behind him he could hear Kane laying down some kind of covering fire, but it stopped abruptly as Milano appeared at the door of his room, his own gun pointing at Starsky.

The brunet backed up and chanced a look over his shoulder at his partner. Kane was on his feet, held tight with Radio's arm around his neck and the flake's gun drilling into his neck. Kane's face was white, his lips almost blue with fear and his eyes were wild, but to his credit he said nothing and fixed his gaze steadfastly on Starsky.

Starsky for his part turned his attention back to Milano. Slowly and deliberately, the brunet bent, one hand in the air as the other dropped his gun to the ground. Straightening, he resumed reaching for the sky and stared back at Sal.

'Nice, Mr. Starsky. It's so easy when I don't need to tell people what to do for their own good. Now kick the gun over to me, nice and quiet.'

The curly haired cop did as he was bid. 'Let the kid go Milano. It's me you wanted. He don't mean nuthin to ya. He doesn't even know why we're here.'

Milano looked thoughtful. 'And why are you here?' he asked.

Starsky gave a crooked grin. 'You need to ask? Look, you can do what you want with me, just let him go. You've done with Hutch, his head is still so fucked he don't know what he's doin'. You've taken my Captain out. If you have me too, no one else can trace ya. Let him go huh?'

For a second, Milano seemed to contemplate the request and finally he nodded at Radio who reluctantly released his hold of Kane. The tall blond man turned away from his captor and for a moment it looked as though he would immediately turn tail and flee down the corridor but as Radio turned his attention back towards the brunet, Kane aimed his gun at Radio's chest and fired point blank. The big man shot backwards and hit the wall, leaving a bloody red trail down the pale blue wall as his dead body slumped to the floor. Kane looked at the bloody mess he'd inflicted, paled to a ghostly white, covered his mouth with his hand and fled the scene without a backwards glance as Starsky sighed and contemplated his fate.

Sal glared at the dead body of his henchman for a moment and then dismissed it as though it were so much garbage. He smiled at the brunet wolfishly. 'Well that saved me a job, he was expendable anyway, but back to you, detective. I knew you'd find me. It seemed inevitable.'

'I aim to please' Starsky snapped gruffly.

'Oh and I aim too, especially with this in my hand' Sal responded wagging the gun threateningly. 'Now, as I seem to hold the winning hand, I'd like you to lie down on your belly on the floor please.'

Starsky glared at him defiantly. 'Why?'

In reply, Sal shot a bullet into the thick carpet by Starsky's right foot and then aimed at the brunet's head again. 'Because I asked nicely and I even said please.' At that moment a resident of the hotel stuck his head bravely around his door.

'What the…..?' A shot silenced him and he retreated hurriedly. Starsky could only hope that he would be phoning the cops, but feared it would be too late to save his own hide. He regarded Sal's gun cautiously.

'I see your point' the brunet muttered and slowly got to is knees and then onto his stomach on the carpet.

'Hands behind your head.'

Again, slowly, Starsky laced his fingers behind his head and breathed deeply. This was it. His "partner" had gone and he was finally alone. He flinched as he heard the gun cock behind him and saw fleetingly the toe of Sal's shoe appear by the side of his face. Milano obviously knew what he was doing. This was a classic execution position. The bullet would enter Starsky's curly head, be stopped by the floor on its way out and there would be less mess to clear up as a result. Terrific!

Fleetingly, Starsky thought one last time of Hutch. It wasn't as though his life were passing in front of his eyes, so much as he lad one last memory of the blond and the good times they'd had together. At least of Sal disposed of him, Hutch might yet find away to arrest the bald headed man. The brunet closed his eyes and braced himself, but nothing prepared him for the voice sounding loud and confidently down the corridor.

'Back off Milano.' Hutch's voice snapped into the deathly silence and Starsky drew in an involuntary breath. How had the blond known where to find him? And how had he…. _Forget it Davey boy, he's here now_. Turning his head sideways, Starsky could see Hutch's Colt aimed squarely at Sal, while Sal still had his gun aimed at the brunet's head. It was a standoff and suddenly time seemed to stand still.

'My oh my Ken. You look so much better than the last time we spoke' Sal said smoothly.

'I told you to back off' Hutch snarled again.

'Back off? From him? Why would I do that? Remember what we talked about Ken? Remember how we discussed friendships and who you could trust? You can trust me can't you? Remember how this turkey treated you? How he started you on horse? How he messed with your young friend? Kiko wasn't it?'

Hutch's gaze never wavered. 'You're wrong Milano. You're the guy I shouldn't trust. You fucked with my head, now its time for you to pay.'

Sal flinched and gripped his gun tighter. 'Come on Ken, you have to know he's worthless. He'd turn his own Mom in for a dime' the bald headed man said silkily. As if to reinforce the sentiment, Sal stepped over Starsky's supine figure and stamped hard on the brunet's left knee. Starsky screamed just once before clamping his mouth shut.

Above him, sweat shone on Milano's bald pate as he grinned over at Hutch, but the bald man's mirth was short lived as Hutch shot a bullet into the floor by Milano's foot as a warning.

'Listen good punk. I want you to drop your gun and back away from my partner.'

'Partner? I thought you hated him?' Sal said a little less confidently.

'You thought wrong. Now back off before I put a bullet where that brain of yours should be.'

Sal tore his gaze from Hutch and looked down at Starsky who had curled into a ball and was clutching his left knee tightly. Indecision stopped the bald man from moving for a moment, but then Milano saw the futility of carrying on any more. Sal finally dropped the gun and kicked it away from him, his toe "accidentally" catching Starsky's back and the brunet arched backwards in pain.

In that moment, Hutch saw red. This was the man who had screwed up his life so royally and before he could contemplate stopping himself, the blond's forefinger squeezed the trigger of his gun, letting loose a bullet that ploughed through Milano's chest.

A second slug joined the first as Sal's eyes stared heavenwards in shock and his body teetered a moment before crumpling to the ground to lie in an untidy heap. Starsky backed away from the fallen man's body as Hutch launched himself at Milano with an animal scream. As Starsky looked on, the blond tore into Sal's body with his fists and feet in a frenzied attack against the dead man, taking out all his hurt and the months of torture on the body on the ground. 'You fuckin' bastard, you're to blame, this is all you' he almost wept as his fists connected again and again with the body. Starsky was for a moment staggered by the ferocity of the attack and it took him a moment to come to his senses.

Finally the brunet staggered to his feet and limped over to the blond, grabbing Hutch's arms to pull him away.

'Hutch don't do this buddy' he muttered as he struggled with the crazed cop. 'Hutch, c'mon buddy, it's over, it's all over now. He's gone. You did it. It's all over.' Starsky held his partner tightly, his hands entwined around the blond's shoulders as Hutch's struggles faded and finally the flaxen haired man slumped against the brunet's body. Together, the two sank to the ground. Starsky soothed Hutch's trembling body, running his hands though the wheaten bangs. For long minutes they remained that way until finally the blond heaved a deep breath and pushed himself away from his friend's grip.

'I killed him Starsk - in cold blood. I'm just like him. I'm no better'n him' the blond said falteringly as he looked at the body opposite.

'No Hutch, you saved my life, how could ya be as bad as him huh?'

'But I killed him. I didn't give him a chance, I just…..I shot him. There's no excuse. I'm gonna be charged. I'm gonna have to hand myself in and….'

Starsky shook his head. 'You did what you had to do. We're gonna take care of this, don't worry. If they asked me I'd say what I saw was Sal pointing the gun at you. Ya had no choice. You had to shoot him.

Hutch looked at the brunet as though seeing him for the first time. All the terrible things he'd said and done to the brunet ran through his head and yet Starsky had held him. The brunet was still prepared to watch his back. Hutch's face crumpled into despair.

'God Starsk I'm so sorry. I don't know if I'm ever gonna be able to make it right with us. I've said….I've done…..shit I can't even bring myself to….'

Starsky sighed. 'You've been there through a shedload of my madness, Blintz. I know it wasn't you saying those things. You mean more to me than that.'

'Can you honestly forgive me? Even after this? Coz I'm not sure I can forgive myself.'

Starsky snorted. 'You were sick, what's to forgive? Give yourself a break huh? And next time, listen to your partner and don't take crap assignments.'

'You still wanna partner me?' Hutch asked incredulously.

'Hey, they saddled me with a teenage computer. I prefer my blonds dumb! But there is one thing. After all we've been through, there's one thing I really need to ask.'

'Anything buddy…..anything at all.'

Giving his trademark crooked grin, Starsky cocked his head to one side. 'Sal had me pinned for sure so um……what kept ya?'

(authors note - final chapter tomorrow)


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36 **

The two detectives stayed put on the top floor of the hotel until the black and whites and the meat wagon arrived to take the bodies of Radio and Milano away in the black zippered bags. About an hour after Sal had breathed his last, Fargo appeared on the scene and strutted up the corridor to find Starsky and Hutch sitting together in the large penthouse suite that Sal had occupied looking exhausted and talking quietly together.

'Well, well. If it aint the dynamic duo! What the hell happened here? Matt Kane phoned me a while ago, but he was so garbled I could hardly make sense of what he was saying. Somethin' about shootin' a flake and Starsky was gonna die. Then I got a call to get down here coz shots had been fired and I find you two large as life and twice as ugly sittin' pretty.'

'Well don't sound too happy to see us in one piece' Starsky retorted mildly.

'Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you're both ok' Fargo started.

'Aww, listen to that Hutch. He loves us.'

'I was gonna say, there's too much paperwork involved when a cop gets shot. This way, I still get to have lunch. How come they're both dead? That was never the plan. You were supposed to keep them alive to get the name of the mole Hutchinson.'

Hutch's face was still pale and strained. He looked uncomfortable and started to answer, but Starsky stepped in quickly. 'Kane was right, Sal was gonna put a hole in me, but then Hutch appeared. Sal decided he was a better target, shot at him, missed and Hutch defended himself. He couldn't do nuthin else Cap'n otherwise it would have been bye bye Blondie.'

Fargo looked closely at Hutch's face. The blond had dark circles under his eyes and his face held a pinched quality as though he'd been worrying for months. Hutch's eyes caught Fargo's and then fell, masked by heavy lids. The erstwhile Captain said nothing, holding his doubts in. Two of Bay City's flakes had been taken out. Damn the Feds, this was at least a result for the department. He decided to let things ride. His records would balance at the end of the month, the statistics would look good and he might even get a bonus out of it for looking after the department so well. Mentally Fargo shrugged. If there was a comeback from the Feds, let Dobey handle it when he got back to work.

'Get yourselves cleaned up' Fargo grunted. 'You both look like shit. Starsky, get yourself back to the hospital and get that leg seen to again. Hutchinson, I'm authorising two weeks sick leave. I expect you to take it. At the end of it I need two fit officers reporting for duty, ok?'

Starsky levered himself to his feet, balancing on his good right leg. 'Two partners? As in partners workin' together? No more rookies huh?'

Fargo looked at Hutch who'd made the request for a different partner in the first place. The blond nodded wearily and the Captain nodded. 'Whatever' he said, admitting defeat. 'Two weeks, no more, now get outa here.'

Starsky limped heavily to the door as Hutch followed him and at the doorway, the blond put an uncertain arm around his partner's waist, unsure how Starsky would take the contact. The brunet didn't even seem to notice. He leaned heavily and thankfully on his partner as the two men made their way slowly down to the ground floor and out of the hotel. At the entrance, the smaller man looked around for his Torino and cursed.

'Would you believe that college brained punk? He's taken my car! Kane's taken my baby! After all he said about it.'

'You're in no shape to drive anyway' Hutch muttered. 'Here, we'll take mine.'

'Take it to where?' the brunet asked suspiciously.

'The hospital'.

'I don't want to go to the hospital' Starsky whined. 'I hate the hospital. I just need a hot shower and a rub down with a warm Kim Bassinger. I'll be fine.'

'Starsk, you can hardly walk. Get in the car and let me drive you.'

The brunet looked suspiciously at Hutch's latest mouldering rusty heap. 'It's just adding insult to injury' he muttered but got into the passenger side of the car with relief. His leg hurt like hell and with the adrenaline finally leaving his system, the pain was almost intolerable.

Quietly, Hutch trotted around and got into the drivers side of the car. He cast a sidelong look at the curly haired man who was sitting with his head resting back and his eyes closed. This felt so right that Hutch wondered how he could have felt such animosity to Starsky for so long. Silently he cursed Salvador Milano's name. There were still small doubts in the blond's head. Small pockets of thoughts that Hutch realised had been planted there, but that still felt as though they were his own thoughts. Only time would tell as to whether he could eradicate them completely – time and a certain man called Dave Starsky.

Hutch drove quickly over to Memorial Hospital. The big building was close to the Metro, but by the time he drew up outside the ER, Starsky was dozing. As the car engine switched off, the brunet opened his eyes and groaned softly. He reached for the door handle and turned to his partner.

'Thanks buddy. I can take it from here.'

Hutch was stunned for a moment and couldn't find the capacity to move as he watched the curly haired man struggle to get out of the car. Was this it? Such a brief dismissal when Starsky had always wanted Hutch around before.

_Your own fault Hutchinson. What did you expect? After all you've done to him, did you really think he'd want you around all the time?_

As Starsky gave a yelp of pain however, Hutch galvanised into action shot around to the passenger side of the car and leaned in, pushing the startled brunet back onto the seat gently.

'Stay put, I'll get a chair' the blond muttered self consciously before turning and rushing into the entrance to the hospital. A moment later he emerged with a chair and a manoeuvred it to the side of the car.

Solicitously, Hutch took a hold of Starsky around the brunet's waist and pulled him gently to his feet, turning and depositing his partner into the wheelchair in one easy movement. Starsky stifled the groan that welled up inside him and instead looked up into familiar crystal blue eyes.

'I um…..well I can stay. If you want me to' Hutch said, suddenly absurdly unsure of what he was saying and what Starsky's reaction would be. It would not have surprised the blond if Starsky had told him he was fine and he never wanted to see Hutch again, but instead, the brunet grabbed a hold of Hutch's hand.

'I'm not gonna get soapy, so I'm only gonna say this once. You haven't been you for a while. I've been me, but you've been someone else and that someone else didn't like me bein' me, so now you're you, the me that's me wants the real you around and not the you that you used to be.'

Hutch stared at his partner and blinked stupidly. 'Starsk, I'm sure what you said was supposed to be beautiful an' if I could make sense of it, I'm sure I'd love it. But um….I have an idea what you were tryin' to say and um……well, I'm here. Not goin' anywhere, so let's get inside and get your leg fixed huh?'

Starsky sat back in the chair and allowed himself to be wheeled into the ER with a grin. For the first time in his life, he was happy to be going to the hospital. Not only was his leg going to be fixed, but his friendship too.

Whatever had happened, whatever water had flowed under the bridge, the two of them were, and always would be still friends.

**E****pilogue – 3 weeks later.**

The tall black man walked out of the inner office of Internal Affairs and wiped his hand dramatically over his brown before grinning and indicating the door.

'It's all yours partner' Mark Dryden said to Eric Simonetti. 'Piece of cake! How the hell the Feds come to think that the IA are somehow to blame for guns goin' missing from police stores is beyond me. Has anyone explained to them what exactly the IA does? Doesn't "police's police" mean anything any more?'

Simonetti grinned back tightly. He was pretty sure no one could trace him back to the Cougars or to the deceased Milano, but this was too close to comfort. Fuck Starsky and Hutch. From now on they'd be on Simonetti's hit list. They need only put a toe out of line and he'd be on them like a ton of bricks. Squaring his shoulders, the greying man got up with a sigh. 'Like you said partner. Piece of cake' he said as he adjusted his tie and opened the door to the small office.

oOoOoOoOoOo

'Shhh, don't say anything. Keep quiet!' The voice hissed a warning to the assembled detectives. This was one undercover assignment that all the men had been involved in. It meant subterfuge, secrets, whispers in dark corners, a certain amount of danger and yet all of them to a man had volunteered for the job, willingly, not one of them wanting to be left out of the final page in the dark chapter of the department's history.

Now the entire team crouched in the dark, hiding behind furniture, in the darkest corners and lurking in the shadows. There was a palpable air of expectancy and an almost electric atmosphere in the room as they waited for their mark to appear. He'd been illusive and it had taken the detectives almost a month of planning to get to this point – the end of the Salvador Milano/Cougars episode.

There was the sound of footfalls coming from the end of the tiled corridor outside the room and each man stiffened, readying themselves for the inevitable. The footsteps grew louder and then there was the sound of the handle on the door twisting. The door was flung open and a voice yelled out.

'I'm gone for seven weeks and when I get back there's no sign of work! What the fuck is goin' on here? FARGO!'

Starsky sprang out from behind his desk and flicked on the light switch as the rest of the men appeared from their hiding places.

'SURPRISE!' they cried as Dobey took an involuntary step backwards, almost tripping over his cane. For a moment the stern black face froze in an angry grimace and there was quiet in the room, but then the Captain recovered himself and a smile cracked wide and genuine across is face.

"Welcome back Dobey" had been carefully painted in trickly letters across a white banner which now decorated one wall and balloons bobbed at either end of it. As Dobey looked on, Hutch brought out a snowy white cake with a sparkler in the top and the men launched into a chorus of "For he's a jolly good fellow" At the end of it, the Captain looked as though he didn't know whether to laugh or cry and Hutch put down the cake and handed his Captain a tissue.

'We all wanted to say welcome back' Starsky said with a grin.

Dobey composed himself. He'd vowed he wouldn't get emotional but his life had been in jeopardy and he'd fought hard to get back to work. Gruffly he waved a hand at the men and turned away, unable to trust his voice. He staggered slightly and immediately Hutch put a chair behind him and lowered the big man onto it.

'Careful Cap'n. Wouldn't want any more accidents would we?' the blond asked solicitously.

'Are you comfy Cap?' Starsky asked.

'Huh? Um, yeah' Dobey said doubtfully. 'I mean I'm…..well whatever I'm sat on is um soft and….cold and…..'

The brunet cop looked around him for a moment and then turned accusing eyes onto his partner. Hutch gazed back innocently.

'Hutch…..buddy. Where's the cake?'

----------fin----------


End file.
